


XCOM: The Why Bother Files

by Darkwolves602



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comedy, Funny, Gen, Original Character(s), Running the Asylum, Things XCOM Operatives Are No Longer Allowed to Do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkwolves602/pseuds/Darkwolves602
Summary: A series of short stories based on the original 'Things XCOM Operatives Are No Longer Allowed to Do' list as well as a few other rules thrown in for good measure.





	1. Operation Dead Man Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> The full original list can be seen here.
> 
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BqoEJUWKVRFSKXOA2Ks3Ce7Kvphmg0kAFKcuXJHgmr0/edit

“42-inch chest” Sergeant Cassandra York announced, removing the measuring tape from around the recruits’ chest. York had joined the XCOM project from serving with the British Army in Afghanistan during the height of the campaign. A direct and uncompromising soldier to her enemies, her squad mates found her unwavering resolve even amidst a crisis served her well as the teams’ medic in the field. This clash of battlefield tenacity and unabashed care she displayed to those under her command earned her a position as a sort of surrogate mother figure among the younger members of the team.

 “42 in the chest” Corporal Wesley Lambert repeated as he typed the measurement into the tablet held lazily in the crook of his arm. Having earned his stripes in the Kenyan Army by the age of twenty-one Wesley was among the younger of the recruits brought into the combat arm of the XCOM project. The son of a Canadian journalist and a British schoolteacher his fair skin combined with his deep accent embodied a melting pot of cultures akin to his homeland.

York shifted the measuring tape to measure the recruit’s height. “76 inches”

“You’re kidding me?” Lambert could not help but protest.

York rechecked the measurement. “No, 76 on the dot”

“You realise that means it’s going to have to be a custom order” Lambert replied as he continued entering figures into the tablet.

“Not necessarily” replied York, recoiling the measuring tape and walking over to inspect the readout on the tablet

“What do you mean ‘Not necessarily’?” Lambert queried, adding the final entries with a flourish of his free hand.

“Can’t we just, you know” York insinuated with a shift of her head. “I mean he’s hardly going to feel it or anything”

“Well, that’s not really the point is it” Lambert insisted. “It’s a form of respect for those who served”

“Who says he’ll be around long enough to do anything” York persisted. “Remember Jenkins?”

“You mean the one with the…?” Lambert asked.

“No, the other one” York replied. “The threshing machine”

“Oh yeah” replied Lambert, the memoires returning to the forefront of his mind. “But, really, what are the odds on that happening again?”

“Fine” York threw up her open palms in admittance of defeat. “I’ll ask him”

Finally acknowledging their recruit, who until now had been patiently waiting as the discussion had gone on without him York retuned to face the young man.

“Tell me, what was your name again son?” York asked the recruit.

“Squaddie Adam Wyatt, ma’am” Wyatt was very much the spitting image of the all-American soldier. Early twenties, close cropped brown hair, light skin, toned physique beneath his standard issue olive drab fatigues.

“All set to fight some aliens?” York asked.

“It’s what I trained for ma’am” Wyatt replied with the same enthusiasm York saw in every recruit she met; they soon grew out of it. “Just hand me a rifle and point me where you need me”

“Where are you from, Wyatt?” York asked.

“Traverse City, Michigan” Wyatt replied. “Just north of Chicago”

“Got any family back home?” York continued with her questioning.

“Parents and a little sister” Wyatt continued.

“And do you love the Earth?” York shifted the subject.

“Undoubtedly, it’s our planet” Wyatt said.

“And you want us to have the best chance of protecting it?” York asked.

This question threw him for a moment. “Of course”

“And you understand that to do that, we all have to be prepared to make sacrifices?” York asked. This time Wyatt simply nodded in reply. “So, you get how a small amount of discomfort with it being a bit tight would do a great deal towards helping the XCOM project succeed?”

“Tight, ma’am?” Wyatt asked, confused.

“Only a few inches” York assured him. “You’ll hardly notice”

“I guess so” Wyatt replied, the resolve in his voice faltering this time.

“Glad to hear it” York gave him a reassuring clap on the back. “You’re goanna make your sister proud. And don’t worry, we’ll make all the adjustments. A little off the top and bottom and you’ll fit right in” York took the tablet held out by Lambert. “Just sign here and we’re all done"

Accepting the offered tablet Wyatt’s eyes scanned up and down the page until they came to rest on- “Wait, does that say coffin?”

 

*******************************

 

_GENERAL ANNOUNCEMENT – ALL XCOM PERSONNEL_

 

_Effective immediately, Sergeant York and Corporal Lambert are relinquished of any duties related to supply and outfitting of new recruits and will be reassigned to less ‘people-orientated’ positions._

 

 

_XCOM Rule 134: Rookies are measured for armour during induction, not coffins. Stop telling them otherwise._

_134a: ‘We don’t measure you for coffins because there usually isn’t enough left to bury’ is not a viable alternative either._


	2. Operation Startled Crane

_Navigation display: Inoperative._

_Primary flight displays: Inoperative._

_Secondary targeting assistance: Inoperative._

_Afterburner: Inoperative._

_Advanced evasion subroutines: Inoperative._

 

Captain Jacob ‘ _Deerstalker_ ’ Evans inhaled deeply, holding the breath in his lungs for a long moment before releasing it in a single calm exhale. He could feel the craft reacting through the control column as the few remaining systems struggled to maintain control in this buffeting wind. Reaffirming his grip on the controls he resumed his pursuit.

As far as he knew he was somewhere over the eastern edge of Siberia, but given the lack of computer assistace or line of sight outside he could only hazard a guess as to precisely where. With the ceaseless tundra making visual routing a near impossibility and all but his most basic instruments disabled he had to rely on a pilots’ dead reckoning to find the target.

Through the thick haze of white he finally saw it, the pulsing blue light. There was no doubt in his mind as he took a firmer hold of the throttle and pushed the control forward, feeding power to the engines and increasing speed. He felt his focus limiting itself to keeping track of the single pulse of light lost in a sea of white, fearing only a momentary lapse of concentration would allow his prey to escape. Even before the engagement started the weather was proving itself as much his enemy as the aliens. Yet, despite the adverse weather conditions, he was determined to persevere.

Without warning the situation quickly deteriorated from bad to worse. From within the cover of white emerged a glowing ball of green energy, it was as much luck as anything that allowed him to evade just before the impact. As he rolled out of the turn the fighter began to shudder beneath him, slow at first but growing in intensity as the seconds passed. At first he feared that despite his best effort the shot had met its mark. He soon realised that the plane was stalling, it was difficult to tell without instruments. Dropping the nose increased the aircrafts speed and settled the craft underneath his feet. He had to be careful not to allow the speed to drop again.

Another ball of energy emerged in front of him, another precarious manoeuvre to evade the attack. The next shot followed swiftly on its heels, the frequency of the attacks only growing as he approached his target. All the while the glowing trail of the enemy ships engine glowed through the haze, taunting, mocking.

Without computer assistance, striking the target with a missile at anything other than point blank range was a near impossibility. Taking a chance upon a blind leap of faith he opened up with the crafts heavy gun. Although the gun could not hope to pierce the aliens hull there was a chance his attack would put his enemy on the defence and allow him sufficient time to secure a lock on.

The roar of the aircrafts gun erupted to drown out the whistle of the cold air around the aircraft. The first volley disappeared into the white haze. The second volley found their mark, a flash of orange light as the shots struck the surface of the alien craft. Using that as a rudimentary rangefinder he focused his attempts to secure a missile lock. He closed in the on target, just a little bit-

The fighter rocked violently, throwing him up in his seat to strain against the confines of the restraints. In his blind determination to close in for the offense he had left himself with no space to manoeuvre and wide open to the alien’s retaliatory attack.

He felt the engines lose power, the cockpit falling eerily quiet with only the ceaseless howling of the wind to keep him company. The aircraft began to drop at an alarming rate, he felt himself being pulled from his seat held in place only by the restraints. Without electrical support, there wasn’t even the incessant repetition of the ground proximity warning system to ceaselessly reminding him of his inevitable doom. He struggled with the controls but to no avail, the loss of the aircrafts engines was the final straw which sealed his fate. In an instant, the world turned black around him.

 

SIMULATION TERMINATED

 

Evans felt the cold sweat forming on the back of his neck, now fully conscious of his ragged breaths amplified by in his ears by his helmet. No matter how much he knew it was a simulation the true to life graphics, audio and force feedback made it feel all too real. Perhaps that was the point.

The locks released with a mechanical clunk, the body of the pod opening with a low hiss of pneumatic systems. Light shined in from outside of the pod, returning him to the real world after what felt like a lifetime of isolation. Outside, he was met by the group of pilots and technicians who had gathered to observe his practice flight. On the main viewscreen dominating the far wall of the flight simulation room he saw the last moment of his simulated demise frozen in time, a dark testament to his death.

Evans reached up to pull his flight helmet from his head, feeling the revitalising wash of the cool air against his sweat drenched skin. Turning his helmet over in his hands he took a moment to truly take in the details and realised how much the arcane design of the helmet made him look more alien than the invaders. Putting the thoughts to the back of his mind he returned to the matter at hand.

“So, how’d I do?” Evans asked.

“Well you died is the short answer” was the response he received. Flight Lieutenant Rupert Gardener was the de-facto leader of their little underground clique, always the first to give his assessment of a team members performance, or lack of.

“Where did they hit me?” Evans asked.

“It wasn’t exactly the aliens that hit- well it was a Crane” Gardener admitted.

“Shame it wasn’t a goose” a technician called out. “I could have made a really good pun on that one”

“Looks as though a Crane got sucked into the left engine and made a right mess of the system on its way out” Gardener explained. “But enough about that, let’s get to what you’re all here for” Gardener walked across to the main viewscreen and passed his hand over the holographic interface. The frozen recording of Evans final moments before his simulated death melted away to be replaced by the tally board of the current scores of the competing pilots in the ‘ _European Regional Flight Deck Buckaroo Championships_ ’.

“Quick summary of the rules for those of you not in the know” Gardener turned to the assembled audience. “It’s points on for every system disabled before the start of the simulation. Additional points are added for any damage caused to the alien ship with a multiplier added if the enemy aircraft is downed during the pursuit. Points are deducted for damage sustained to your own craft with a large penalty added for unsuccessful pursuits, namely death”

“Reviewing the current leader board” Gardener turned his attention to the board. “Representing the proud people of Vyshny Volochyok, we have Lieutenant Sasha Fedorovich” a round of applause rose from the assembled crowd. “From the Japanese Self Defense Force Squadron Leader Kururugi. How she managed to pull off that trick shot we’ll never know” another polite round of applause.

“After that performance” Gardener referred to the scoreboard. “It has to be points off for the finisher” he reached out to trace his finger down the length of the leader board. “That puts you at 7th place, just behind the Australians and just ahead of Gary from Air Traffic Control who flew Microlights in the early 90’s”

Another cheer rose to celebrate the new leader board position.

“Alright” Gardener turned to the flight crew. “Who’s next?

 

 

_XCOM Rule 192: All XCOM pilots are prohibited from participating in ‘Flight Deck Buckaroo Championships’ while on operational duty or mandatory training hours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank the makers of Cabin Pressure for the reference to Flight Deck Buckaroo. For those who haven't heard it, it’s a fantastic radio comedy show and I highly recommend it.


	3. Operation Archive

A classified project kept hidden from all but the few that knew the truth. An underground facility unlike anything the world has ever known, built far beneath the rolling European plains. The greatest example of man’s ingenuity, perseverance and technological expertise serving as the beating heart of the one group that would fight to see humanity brought back from the brink of extinction.

People on the surface talked of little grey men and government conspiracies but most would never entertain the idea of such things existing. A project formed with no public oversight by governments supporting each others efforts even as they publicly denounced them as enemies. An advanced research and manufacturing facility capable of producing technology far beyond that which the rest of the world could ever imagine let alone produce. A single organisation, loyal only to their leader with the technology, expertise and international influence to eclipse the rest of the world combined.

Hidden deep within its walls through its sprawling chambers and labyrinthine corridors lay a darkened room. Inside, lost amongst the sea of files and electronic tablets sat a lone figure at their desk. Their sharp features peered down at the tablet in their hand as they pushed the glasses further up the bridge of their nose so they could better read. A profound sense of purpose filled the room, the surety that came with knowing that what you were doing was right, that what you were doing would changes things, that what you were doing-

“I really can’t be arsed anymore” the file struck the desk with a loud whack.

_Ugh._

A low groan was its only reply.

“I mean seriously, how many more of these are we going to have to do?”

_Ugh._

Another groan rumbled out of the darkness.

“Oi!” a sharp thwack as the broadside of the file struck the back of the researcher’s head, rousing them from their slumber atop the desk they shared with their colleague. “Wake up”

A more disgruntled groan this time, brought on both by the rudeness of the awakening and the prospect of being faced with returning to this seemingly never ending purgatory of files and paperless work. “Ugh, what do you want?”

“You’re supposed to be reviewing these dossiers of course” the archivist said.

“Oh, why do we even bother?” the researcher scratched the back of their head as they attempted to regain a firm grasp of their senses. “It’s not like anybody ever reads these things anyway”

“It doesn’t matter” the archivist persisted. “We handle things down here to keep those idiots up there from doing whatever they please”

“But they already DO whatever they please” the researcher countered. “We come up with a new rule and they just concoct some fresh scheme, get found out and create a new pile of paperless work for us to have to deal with. Where does it end? Why do we even bother?”

“Because that’s our job” the archivist said. “Review the dossiers, write up the new regulations and see that they get added to the list”

“But nobody ever reads the list” the researcher said. “There’s at least a dozen different languages spoken in this facility, three of which I’m not even sure exist outside of the Amazon, the Congo and Yorkshire respectively. And even if we go through all that it usually just ends up dumped in the shredder regardless. You know, they’ve even started nicknaming it ‘The Why Bother Files’”

“Regardless, the sooner we get these done the sooner we can head up to the canteen for our evening ‘Meal of Beige’” the archivist retrieved a fresh file from the stack before passing it across the desk to the researcher. “You can start with that one"

_XCOM Rule 0: Please stop doing things which seem to serve only to make more work for the administrators. Just because we haven’t specified something doesn’t mean we’re ok with you doing it._

_0a: Not that any of that will stop you…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we are introduced to the beleaguered administrators that keep the Asylum if not entirely free of madcap silliness at least on track with the whole 'Save the planet' thing.
> 
> My thinking with these two characters was to keep their descriptions beyond their titles to a minimum (Not solely out of abject laziness for once) but to tie in with their positions as the often forgotten and underappreciated typing monkeys of the XCOM operation. Atleast they have their own office though, thats something.


	4. Operation Crispy Bacon

The harsh reality of leading an insurrection against an alien force that had conquered and held sway over the entire planet for over twenty years was finally catching up with the Commander. Now they were beginning to hallucinate. They must be because the Commander swore they could smell bacon.

The Commander sat at their desk in their private quarters on board the Avenger, reviewing reports from the latest operation against the ADVENT. At first the Commander thought they may have fallen asleep and slept all the through to the morning but checking their watch on their wrist, 2am Coordinated Universal Time (UTC). The international nature of XCOMs missions made operational planning a mess of time zones and day/night raids. The Commander found it a small comfort to have a physical watch to refer to and keep track of the local time within the Avenger.

The Commander opened a drawer in their desk and retrieved a pistol they kept in there, after the doomed attack on the original XCOM base as well as the raids on the Avenger the Commander had taken to always keeping at least one firearm always within arm’s reach. Opening the door to their quarters they stepped out into the corridor as the smell began to intensify, leading them deeper down the dark halls of the Avenger. The Commander had heard talk somewhere that if you smelt burnt toast it could be a sign of a heart attack, never heard one for bacon though.

At first the Commander thought it was coming from the canteen but swiftly remembered nothing coming out of that kitchen ever smelt this good. Despite the international funding for the original XCOM project the stringent oversight and multinational nature of the project made securing any non-critical supplies a ceaseless string of red tape and regulation. This restricted day to day meals to fairly standard fare, even by military standards. Morale had been maintained through weekly themed nights from the some of the culinary whizzes amongst the XCOM staff.

These days it was a crapshoot determining what you could procure and how much of it. Deliveries from resistance cells, trades in the underground markets and supplies ‘obtained’ from ADVENT outposts and convoys ensured that XCOM wouldn’t go hungry but that still left yawning gaps in terms of both variety and anything beyond basic nutrition. The science team on board the Avenger assured everyone the food from the Settlements was safe to eat if nothing else, which did little to reassure the rest of the staff. It was also being noted that traces of alien minerals were seeping into the earth and water and effecting even plants grown in the independent settlements. Pre-packaged standbys from before the invasion were becoming scarcer by the day, making anything entirely humanmade a rare luxury.

Attempts to revitalise the old themed nights were hampered both by a lack of ingredients and by the knowledge of proper earth cuisine becoming a lost art amongst the majority of the 20-something year olds either fleeing the settlements or growing up without a care for what the food tasted like as long as it stayed down after eating.

As the commander moved further through the Avenger the smell continued to intensify and began to be accompanied by muffled noises. The Commander soon found themselves outside the door to the Armory. While its main purpose was storing and maintaining the strike team’s weaponry it also contained a firing range for the Strike Team and any other eager personnel to practice their marksmanship. With the threat to the resistance growing every day XCOM needed every able person on board trained and armed should the need arise. Despite being available around the clock most Strike Team members kept to a regular training schedule for the sake of those sleeping in the barracks just down the hall.

Entering the firing range the regular sounds of gunfire became louder, and the accompanying voices became clearer.

“ _Now remember, this isn’t a slug thrower, so there’s a little less kick back than what you’re used to. That being said, there’s still a lot coming out the other end that you’ve got to contend with"_

“ _Right_ ”

“ _Just take a deep breath, line up your shot and squeeze the trigger_ ”

A shot rang out, a beam of super-heated energy emerged from the barrel of the Gauss rifle to strike the target at the far end of the range.

From their position in the entryway the Commander watched one of the strike team’s new rookies, Parker her name was, being instructed by Kate McBride, one of the revived XCOMs top sharpshooters. To the uninitiated it would seem like little more than a regular training session. But none of that would explain the smell. The Commander only realised it when they saw the tin foil secured tightly around the exposed barrel of the rifle. Parker fired the final shot before engaging the safety, removing the power pack and laying the rifle down on the table.

“Now, conventional wisdom says you want to leave it on for about two minutes to make sure it gets all the way through” Kate instructed. “Well, the mother of convention never considered the laser powered sniper rifle so it’ll probably only need about a minute and half. Any longer than that and you’ll just have an expensive mess to clean up” Retrieving a utility knife from her belt she set about unravelling the tinfoil. “Right, let’s see what we have here”

Retrieving the wrapped foil from around the weapon they laid it out on the table between them. With the same patience and precision as if she were performing some form of delicate surgery Kate unwrapped the stiff foil with the tip of her knife. “Now, exactly how long you leave it there is up to you” Kate continued as she worked. “Personally, I tend to leave it a little longer as I enjoy the little crispy bits you get off the- Commander!”

Parker turned and immediately stiffened at the sight of the Commander. “Commander” she stammered. “We weren’t expecting you down here. We can explain-”

“Is that, bacon?” the Commander interrupted, their gaze unknowingly fixated on the tasty morsel freshly unwrapped from amongst the foil as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Would you care for one, Commander?” Kate asked. The Commander simply nodded.

Kate retrieved a bap laid aside on the table along with an array of condiments and seasonings. She prepared a bacon sandwich before handing it to the Commander.

“After we stopped the raid on that resistance outpost outside Copenhagen I managed to get in contact with a friend of mine who runs a pig farm just outside the city. Well, what used to be the city” Kate clarified. “Anyway, a few bottles of purified water and a box of medical supplies later and we’ve got ourselves some fresh bacon strips”

The Commander took their first hearty bite. In an instant, the sensation cascaded through them like a wave, they could even feel the hint of tears forming in the corners of their eyes. This was real bacon. This wasn’t the reprocessed, repackaged substitute that passed for ‘meat’ in the settlements, this was the genuine, grass fed, straight from the pig’s slice of heaven bred with a smidgen of outstanding. This was practically priceless to them and yet they shared it without a seconds thought.

It was all the Commander could do to muster the words. “As you were”

 

*******************************

 

The salty flavour lingered in the Commanders mouth well into the next morning. Roused at the usual time at the crack of 7:09am the Commander had a brief window to shake off the early morning fatigue before being summoned to the Situation Room to deal with the troublesome matter of that ongoing alien occupation.

Sitting at their console in the Situation Room all was not right for one of the Flight Officers, craning his neck to sniff inquisitively at the air before declaring. “Can anyone smell bacon?”

“Shepard” Bradford interjected, leaning on the guard rail which separated the central platform from the rest of the crew. “Is this your street way of saying you think there’s a policeman on board the Avenger?”

“No, sir” Shepard replied. “I mean I can actually smell bacon.

“You’re imagining things” Bradford replied.

“I’m pretty sure I read that smelling things like that is one of the signs of a heart attack” another of the Flight Officers interjected. “You’re not going to drop dead on us, are you?” they joked.

“Then who would be there to deal with your mess?” Shepard snarked back.

The Commander, sitting across the Situation Room pretended not to take notice of the exchange, consuming themselves with reviewing the mornings communications. Working their way down the list they saw one from Kate which simply read:

_Next time, we’re going to try cooking if off the Skyrangers exhaust port._

 

 

 

_XCOM Rule 18: Operatives are to stop cooking bacon on the heat sinks of plasma weapons_

_18a. Even if it is perfectly cooked. All samples will be confiscated and disposed of._

_18b. This applies to all other surfaces not intended for cooking._


	5. Operation Nothing to Declare

“Skyranger One, you are cleared to land in Hanger 5. Welcome home” the XCOM Air Traffic Control operator welcomed the flight back to base.

“Roger. Skyranger One cleared for landing, Hanger 5” Big Sky replied in confirmation.

Big Sky gradually pulled back on the throttle held firmly in his hand, slowing the Skyranger as they passed over the range of hills which concealed the entrance to the XCOM base from all but the most curious of observers. The great metal jaws of the bases blast doors opened with a mechanical roar as it prepared to accept its arrival.

A gentle pull on the control column arrested their descent as he guided the Skyranger down into the cavern. A few slight shifts of the control column to steady the craft as it descended towards the landing platform.

_Just a few more feet._

Big Sky counted them down in his head.

_50…30…15_

Big Sky drew the throttle back to idle, the rhythmic hum of the engines reduced to a low whisper. The landing gear gave out a low groan as it accepted the full weight of the craft. Big Sky brought the Skyrangers fuel switch to the cut-off position and listened as the whirr of the engines slowed into silence.

Big Sky went through the shutdown procedure with practiced efficiency born through years of intensive training. Even after the most harrowing of missions the importance of ensuring the shutdown procedure was followed correctly could not be understated. As the final system was deactivated Big Sky fell slumped back in his seat, slowly releasing the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding since beginning the descent. No matter how many times he made that descent it was still a tense ride until the final system was shutdown.

Big Sky released the restraints which held him tightly in his pilots seat, finally free to reach the control for the rear loading ramp. The motor whirred to life as the loading ramp descended, striking the hanger floor with a resounding metallic clunk. His piloting duties complete Big Sky lifted himself from his seat and climbed through the cockpit access hatch into the main cabin.

Big Sky emerged to see the members of the strike team already descending the ramp, carrying Corporal Hammond between them on a folding stretcher. The young soldier had learnt the hard way that jumping straight off a 3-story roof, even with an open skip of rubbish to break your fall, was a tactic best reserved only for those soldiers with the appropriate MELD augmentations.

Strewn amongst the cabin were crates of alien technology secured from the battle site that would need to be quarantined, catalogued and then sent to the research and engineering labs are required. There were also crates filled with extra ammunition, medical supplies and the like that would need to be removed, checked and replaced before the next operation. As soon as the strike team was clear the ground crew would come on board to replace supplies and perform the necessary post-flight survey.

Big Sky glanced to the side and noted that not all of the strike team had left, Lieutenant Inessa Tanner stood at the back of the cabin, an unmarked crate held between her arms. Without a word, Big Sky leant down and retrieved the other crate laid down beside her. This was not usually part of his job description, but he knew whatever was inside this crate was not for the attention of XCOM at large.

On the surface XCOM itself was a pretty well funded enterprise, having secured the backing of some of the largest economic powers in the world. The reality on the ground however was that while basic provisions and essential supplies were readily available anything beyond that was a complete mess. The secret nature of the project made sure anything coming in or out of the base was heavily scrutinised so even managing to requisition basic luxuries was a time-consuming process, not even considering the cost and logistics of securing space on the official transports. Enter Lieutenant Inessa ‘ _Cognitio_ ’ Tanner.

Growing up in the historic trade city of Venice she had learnt from an early age about the value of free trade and business connections. Taking this to heart as she entered adulthood and began to travel the world she quickly learned the secret places to look for the best deals and the unusual items. After joining the Italian army and being drafted into XCOM as a field medic she quickly saw an opportunity for those with the skills and the contacts to not only help their fellow personnel but make a healthy profit on the side.

She found her opening in XCOMs unique position as an organisation which was free to operate across international borders while in possession of a stealth transport and no obligation to report to local Customs officials. There was money to be made bringing items to the base itself but the even more lucrative side of things lay in what passed into the base before passing right back out again.

XCOM had been under very tight scrutiny from the Council since the beginning but XCOMs elimination of the alien base had finally given Tanners operations the leeway necessary to start making some real scratch. This one in particular was a very special order, hard to obtain, even harder to move discreetly.

“Very helpful these invaders, deciding to touch down right where we could procure such a unique item” Tanner said as she walked towards the open ramp. “I hope they keep this up”

“What makes you think the aliens would be so accommodating as to choose their invasion sites based on your delivery schedule?” Big Sky asked.

“Well I’ve got a shipment heading to Scotland next week” Tanner said. “Can’t we just claim there was an alien sighting in Cardiff?”

“Why would the aliens want to invade Cardiff?” Big Sky asked.

“Same answer as to the question that has troubled scholars for years: Why would anyone would want to live in Cardiff?” Tanner stepped off the loading ramp and turned towards the main exit from the hanger. “Although saying that I did have an uncle who-”

“ _Lieutenant!_ ”

Tanner was brought to a stop in an instant, she recognised that voice.

“Crap” Tanner cursed beneath her breath before turning to meet them. She was greeted by the sight of Major Rupert Saul, a tall, gaunt Englishman who carried with him the air of always suspecting you of doing something or at the very least being on the verge of doing something. He approached flanked by two XCOM base security personnel. Due to the nature of XCOMs unique structure some staff members found themselves performing auxiliary roles when not undertaking their regular duties. Major Saul was considered the defacto head of internal security for the facility.

“We seem to have two additional crates from what had been listed on the manifest” Saul said, eyeing the two crates in front of him.

“Must be a typing error” Tanner replied.

“I believe ensuring the accuracy of the manifest is the responsibility of the pilot” Saul turned his gaze to Big Sky.

“Paperwork was never my forte” Big Sky responded.

“Indeed. In fact, I’ve noticed several similar irregularities on a number of operations you and Lieutenant Tanner have been involved in” Saul said. “Extra crates not being listed on the manifest, supplies being loaded or unloaded without the assistance of the groundcrew. Almost as though someone had something to hide, almost as though someone were smuggling”

“Smuggling?” Tanner snarked. “Who would ever consider such a thing”

“I also noted that your latest assignment was in east Asia, home of the Golden Triangle, North Korean nukes and some of the largest counterfeiting syndicates in the world. It makes me wonder what two people with access to a stealth military transport could be have brought back in some unlisted crates”

“Hey, I’m just the flying cabbie here” Big Sky asserted.

Saul returned his attention to Tanner. “What’s in the crate, Tanner?”

“ _She Geng (Snake Soup)_ ” Tanner replied flatly.

“Of course” Saul replied with a sly sneer before turning to his subordinate beside him. “Corporal Thatcher, if you would”

Thatcher secured his assault rifle and produced a compact crowbar from his belt. Tanner and Big Sky laid the crates at their feet before stepping back to allow the Corporal to work. Thatcher jammed the crowbar into the gap and lifted the lid away with a single jerk. As they gazed down at the revealed contents of the first crate Tanner was sure she heard Thatcher hold back a deep wretch. Some of the newer recruits took time to adjust to the sorts of things you saw as part of daily life in XCOM, but some things you simply couldn’t be prepared for. 

Thing is, it was unlikely that anyone had expected to find a 23-foot-long body pillow emblazoned with a semi-naked anime snake girl.

Tanner broke the lingering silence. “It’s something of an acquired taste”

 

_XCOM Rule 435: All XCOM personnel are prohibited from using XCOM resources to run international smuggling operations_

_435a: If illicit operations continue, the Council will insist measures be implemented to have Customs officials on staff to monitor all incoming/outgoing traffic_

_435b: Seriously guys, who wants to be screened by the TSA before/after every mission._


	6. Operation Light Relief

Sophie Davies, researcher for the XCOM project under the direction of Chief Scientific Officer Dr Vahlen. She had never been told the specifics of her work before joining XCOM, such was the nature of a project that most the worlds governments didn’t know existed and the few that did could neither confirm nor deny its existence.

In her previous life, she’d been working in research and development for a major technology company in Vancouver. A few months ago, word had begun to circulate regarding strange occurrences and sightings of unknown craft over major cities around the world and visits from men in black types with highest clearance and no identification. It seems they were looking for technical input on a top-secret project: No details, no background and no questions answered. Feeling the call for adventure stirred within her she signed up. It soon emerged that signing up meant a midnight knock on your door, two minutes to pack and a one-way flight on an unregistered transport to somewhere in eastern Europe.

In some ways, it was her ideal occupation, working at the forefront of a secret project which could save the entire human race from the very real threat of extra-terrestrial life. Although no one involved would ever receive the recognition they were due after this was over her knowledge and experience combined with a sterling recommendation would secure her any research position she could think to apply for. There was only one problem, and it was sitting in Dr Vahlens chair.

Sophie could hardly begin to comprehend the pressure she must be under on an almost daily basis. It was one thing to be the cog in a mighty machine, it was quite another to be one of the leading figures critical to the continued existence of the entire human race. If Dr Vahlen was feeling any stress about her position she didn’t normally show it, presenting herself with an unwavering image of professionalism.

That was until the moment the mask slipped, usually when a requisition order was delayed or a lab tech forgot to update her on their project, and those closest to her were treated to the faintest glimpse of the rage simmering just beneath the surface. And dispensing that anger on the captive aliens the strike team brought back could only take her so far. For the sake of the team and XCOM at large Sophie decided she would find a way for the good Doctor to ‘loosen up’.

Truth was, she’d been working on just such a project in a spare time, conducting design proofing and simulated analysis for the better part of a month now. All she needed was a prototype. With the assistance of a friend down in engineering she’d managed to get one fabricated from spare components and offcut alien materials. She tested it herself and found the device to be wholly in line with the design intent.

All she needed to do now was deliver it.

 

*******************************

Dr Vahlen walked into her office on the very brink of smashing the first piece of technical equipment she came across if only replacing it wouldn’t require several weeks waiting time and a mountain of requisition forms.

Collapsing down into her desk chair she clasped her hands over her eyes, enjoying the moment of quiet whilst simultaneously despairing at its inevitable brevity. Finally daring to open her eyes Vahlen noticed that she had less space free on her desk than she’d had this morning, now being taken up by a package. More work, of course.

Vahlen opened the package and took a quizzical look at the contents. It looked as though it was some new piece of alien tech for her department to research but why was it being sent directly to her and not to-

Vahlen noticed a note inside, reaching inside she read it expecting some new revelation as to its reason for being here. The note simply read:

 

_Something to help you relax._

_Signed: A Friend._

 

A second glance at the contents of the box caused all the pieces to fall into place one after another. In an instant, she realised exactly what this was.

Her first thoughts were of embarrassment, then anger, followed swiftly by realisation. It seems fate had been so kind as to deliver her a piece of technical equipment whose destruction would alleviate her frustration without needing to explain her requisition for a costly replacement. But before she acted upon her thoughts and sought to place the item in close proximity with the nearest wall ideas came to mind of an even greater opportunity. This however, would require some expert assistance.

Searching across her desk stacked high with electronic tablets and technical tools she found her lone pen and notepad that she always ensured to keep close at hand. Despite XCOM being almost entirely paperless she found it helpful to have something close to hand with which she could jot down ideas and inspirations as they came to her. Sometimes the best solution in these situations was the low tech one.

Writing furiously, she penned a letter to the one person in the entirety of XCOM she knew she could trust with this.

 

_SECURITY CLEARANCE: OMEGA_

_Raymond_

_Need your technical expertise. Is it safe?_

_Vahlen_

 

Securing the item and the note in a sealed package she summoned a research assistant to courier it to Engineering immediately with instructions that its contents were for Dr Shens eyes only.

With her query dispatched Vahlen decided to consume herself in the mornings experiments while she awaited her reply.

 

*******************************

Returning to her office some hours later a small part of her was giddy with joy in a way she hadn’t been since a child at Christmas at the sight of the package awaiting her on her desk. Closing the door to her office behind her she opened to contents of the box to find the object returned to her, sans any lead lined casing which would suggest it was inherently dangerous along with a note from the head of XCOMs Engineering division.

 

_Vahlen_

_Firstly, not sure why you marked this Level Omega (Alien infiltration threat, trust no one)._

_Secondly, why you thought I would be the person to answer this._

_The short answer is yes, it’s safe._

_Raymond_

 

Vahlen also took note of a hastily scrawled addition at the bottom of the page.

 

_Based on the materials and machine marks I need to have a word with one of my fabrication engineers, just as soon as I find my wrench._

 

*******************************

Sophie swiped her ID card through the reader, the automated system chirping in acceptance as it allowed her entry to resume her work. It was coming into the second day since delivering her ‘Care Package’ to Dr Vahlen and so far she hadn’t noticed any difference. Settling down at her workstation her mind found focus in thinking of the work to come for the day. Sophie felt as though she was close to a breakthrough on the redesign for the experimental plasma rifle, working out exactly how to mount the plasma cartridge without the excess heat singeing the operators palm the moment after firing. If she could just redistribute the supports to allow for additional air cooling over the core perhaps that would be sufficient to-

“ _Morning everyone_ ”

Sophie glanced up from terminal as she saw Dr Vahlen walk into the lab, a surprisingly cheery smile spread across her face.

“How’s everyone doing this morning?” Dr Vahlen asked.

It seems the good doctor was in high spirits this morning. Sophie could only sit and watch as Dr Vahlen passed amongst her team, asking after their progress and inquiring if they required any additional resources.

It appeared her invention was a success after all. In a strange way, perhaps this would be the thing which would win the war for humanity. Maybe this would become something of a strange footnote of history about the time that the world was saved based on one person’s design for a super advanced d-

Sophie noticed a sealed note left at her workstation and her heart began to run wild in her chest. Almost all communications within XCOM were conducted through the internal intranet or face to face meetings. Physical communications were usually reserved for moments when security was of an utmost concern, either the most sensitive or the direst situations in which you wouldn’t even trust those working around you.

Sophie discreetly broke the seal on the letter and began reading it:

 

 

_From the desk of XCOM Chief Scientific Officer Dr Vahlen_

_XCOM Senior Researcher Sophie Davies,_

_Concerning the prototype device you had couriered to me._

 

This was it. This was how she got herself fired from one of the most important undertakings humanity had ever devised, how she would be dragged before command accused of international treason against all humanity. They wouldn’t just let her walk out of here with all the things she’d seen. At best, they would have her confined to a detention centre in the deepest, darkest corner of the base for the rest of the war. Worst case, the Council could even claim she was too much of a security risk to keep alive. What was she alone against the fate of humanity? With all the resources and influence the Council had over this project combined with the overhanging air of deniability it would be mere child’s play to arrange some form of ‘accident’ or simply claim she’d been transferred to one of the XCOM support bases overseas. Sophie dared to continue to read, if she was going down she at least wanted to know the terms.

 

_I wanted to offer my personal thanks for the opportunity to be among the first to test your prototype device and I enclose my preliminary analysis._

 

“What?” was all Sophie could bring herself to say.

 

_While the base materials used in its construction may be completely alien from those that came before it I do note that it has managed to retain the fundamental characteristics and design traits of its forebears. While I may have hoped for a certain level of innovation given the seemingly limitless possibilities for enhancement and redesign presented by our recent discoveries regarding the alien’s technology I can appreciate the sensibility when dealing with such new technology to first master the essentials before deciding on how best to develop from there._

_While the design may at first seem like little more than a continuation of our current understanding just using new materials even a cursory glance reveals several new ideas and improvements to the current market equivalents._

_Taking the outer casing as an example, the alien alloys are both smoother to the touch and yet more resilient than any materials previously used for this purpose. This provides something of a novel experience with both the effortlessness at which it may pass across the surface of the skin combined with the ticklish sensation it leaves in its wake through even the briefest contact which takes a considerable time to dissipate._

_My discovery that the device was powered was met by a mix of surprise and elation. The model appears to have several features I found most interesting. By adjusting the controls provided the casing could be heated or cooled with minimal delay. The variability and the smoothness of the transition of the speed settings proved something of a stimulating experience. Although I must admit, as time went on I found the precise coordination necessary to adjust the settings to be swiftly escaping me. Perhaps an opportunity presents itself to offer a programmable version with sequences adaptable to each operator’s preferences._

_These unique capabilities would lead me to suspect that the device incorporates some form of Elerium powered core however without disassembling the device entirely I can only speculate._

_The crowning jewel however would be the unexpected and wholly delightful jolts of low level shocks which originate at seemingly random intervals and add a heady dose of anticipation to the proceedings. Admittedly, I am unsure as to whether this was an intended design feature or simply the surprisingly enjoyable result of the internal circuitry grounding itself on the outer casing. Further safety and quality testing may be in order._

 

_Overall, I can say while I have thoroughly enjoyed the testing experience I do not believe the current design justifies the no doubt exorbitant cost necessary to manufacture the units for production._

 

Even as Sophie’s brain fought to make sense of exactly what she had just read her eyes drifted down to the last line added at the bottom of the page.

_I’m keeping the prototype._

 

_XCOM Rule 8: Stop requesting Dr. Shen fabricate ‘something that will get Dr. Vahlen to loosen up’_


	7. Operation Sideways Scuttle

“ _Final weapons check. Prepare for entry_ ”

The rhythmic click and harsh strike of metal against metal resonated in the confined corridor, made all the more claustrophobic by the presence of over half a dozen soldiers in full combat armour.

“ _Ok on my mark. Three… two… one… BREACH_ ”

 

*******************************

“Ladies and gentlemen” the loudspeaker enhanced voice resonated through the large cavern dug deep beneath the rolling hills of Eastern Europe. “Welcome to the 3rd XCOM Chryssalid Derby. I am your commentator Jack Ryder. We are coming to you live from a cavern at the bottom of the XCOM base located in- no one needs to know”

The centre of the rocky cavern was dominated by a makeshift racetrack built from supply crates and whatever else could be procured from around the base. A group of tamed Chryssalids that would serve as the days runners lingered at the starting grid.

Lieutenant Jack Ryder, leader of this underground betting ring, sat atop his makeshift announcer’s chair built from the same random assortment of crates and supply boxes. From there he could broadcast commentary to those present through the speakers spread across the cavern.

“We have some great scuttlers on the track today. As we prepare they’re under starters orders” Ryder raised a laser pistol into the air above his head, firing a shot into the cavern ceiling in a flurry of displaced dirt. “And they’re off!” The pack of racers broke from the starting area amid a thunderous cheer from the crowd as they set off down the first straight.

“And straight out of the gate we have _Acid Reflux_ followed by _Scissor Hands_ , _My Other Racer is a Horse_ and _Blade Runner_ coming up on the outside as they approach the first bend”

The Chryssalid racers skidded around the first bend, their sharp talons screeching to find purchase against the freshly cut rock floor. The two racers bringing up the rear oversteered on the bend and slipped, crashing into the makeshift barricade in a tangled heap. This soon devolved into a flail of claws and talons as each competitor fought to break free.

“Looks like we have some infighting breaking out in the back between _Blade Runner_ and _Chockfullodrugs_ but I’m sure nobody wants to see- oh, who am I kidding. We all love to see that”

Returning to the head of the pack those still in the race were now locked in a dead heat for first position. “Back at the front it’s still _Acid Reflux_ with _My Other Racer is a Horse_ moving into second and coming up to challenge is _Beetlemania_. Technically speaking the Chryssalids are more closely related to arachnids but don’t blame me folks, I didn’t come up with the names”

As the homestretch approached the race became a hotly contested bout between the remaining leaders. “Turning onto the home straight _Acid Reflux_ went a bit wide there and has been overtaken by _My Other Racer_. So, it’s _My Other Racer_ followed swiftly by _Acid Reflux_ , _Acid Reflux_ and _My Other Racer_. Its goanna be close and as they approach the finish line its-”

“ _Break it up!_ ”

All eyes swiftly turned to the back corner of the cavern as the first of the black clad soldiers burst through the access tunnel into the cavern.

“ _It’s the cops, cheese it!_ ” a startled cry called out.

Despite what one might have anticipated, those present were not master criminals or escape artists. When the raid struck, whatever contingencies may have been made, whatever clever plans may have been devised, shattered amongst an equal distribution of stunned bewilderment and panicked scrambling.

Those who tried to make a run for it were the first to be targeted, the strike team soldiers rushing forward to contain the situation before it could descend further into chaos. XCOM base internal security was generally handled by a dedicated security staff, leaving the strike team to focus on the worldwide threats from the aliens and EXALT. Sometimes the strike team were summoned to deal with a situation requiring rather more firepower. Such instances included alien attack, EXALT infiltration and breaking up an underground gambling ring.

A combination of daily physical exertion and MELD enhanced vitality made the XCOM troops both faster to react and swifter on their feet, able to traverse the uneven terrain of the cavern floor like a wild beast bred for the irregular environment.

Even underground the skies were turned to their advantage. Once the half dozen soldiers had taken up positions to surround the main group of revellers another of the strike team erupted from the group guarding the door, carried on the flaming gold wings of the newly developed Archangel armour. With unmatched speed and grace, they wheeled around the fleeing group to cut off their escape route deeper into the cavern, forcing them back towards the other soldiers. Those caught quickly realised the reality of their situation as they were herded like panicked sheep.

The remainder of the soldiers kept their sights trained firmly on the pack of Chryssalids still ambling around the finish line of the makeshift racetrack. Their apparently docile nature did little to deter them from keeping their distance and their weapons drawn on the creatures.

As the dust settled it soon emerged that of all those present only Ryder remained unconfined, keeping to his seat in his announcer’s chair. “Alright” Ryder called out, holding his open hands aloft. “It’s a fair cop” tapping the control on his mike he silenced the caverns speakers. “Let’s lower the guns and be civil about this”

The strike team leader stepped forwards from amongst the group, surveying the open cavern before them. Confident that it was safe they pulled off their heavy helmet, allowing their long blonde ponytail to escape from its confines. Ryder recognised her as Colonel Maria Townsend, a true by the book ground leader of XCOMs strike forces and an absolute ball breaker to boot. Despite this being off duty hours and technically under international jurisdiction no doubt she would be taking thorough note of those present and submitting a full report to XCOM command.

“Area secure” Townsend spoke into her COM link. “Bring in the doctor”

From the access corridor at the far side of the cavern Dr Vahlen was escorted in by yet more members of the XCOM strike force. They must have brought in nearly half roster for this op.

“Lieutenant Ryder, I presume?” Dr Vahlen asked as she approached Ryder.

Lieutenant Jack Ryder, formerly of the United States Marines before being sent to XCOM. Most Council nations who sent operatives to support the XCOM project generally selected those with exemplary military, academic or industrial qualifications to serve as best examples of their countries to fight the alien threat. Ryder was something of an exception. Speak to a group of his colleagues and you would hear a new story every time.

Some said that he had stumbled across a classified intelligence report, the contents of which could lead to war between the US and Canada over the disputed Machias Seal Island. In order to keep this under wraps the higher ups decided it would be prudent to transfer him somewhere he would be unable to make use of this information.

Other times they claimed he had been unknowingly standing in the way of promotion for the son of some prominent Senator. A few discreet phone calls to the Department of Defense and daddy’s little boy soon found himself on the path to a cushy office position at DARPA.

A few said he was here to escape creditors back in the states, must be some pretty nasty people to be in debt to if fighting aliens is the safer option.

One soldier even claimed someone matching his description had ties to British Loyalist militias still operating on US soil, hoping to return the wayward colony to the bosom of the empire. Rumours circled that the government’s attempts to curtail these activities included transferring him to a position with a less optimistic chance of survival.

And then there was the occasional person who assured those around them that the guy was just here to fight the good fight and do his bit for humanity. There were not many of those people.

“Quite the operation you’ve built for yourself down here, Lieutenant” Dr Vahlen commented as she took in the sheer expanse of the cavern around her and the amount of equipment repurposed for this use.

“It keeps the people entertained” Ryder replied. “Everyone enjoys a good race”

“Indeed” Dr Vahlen turned back to face Ryder. “But I’m afraid, for you, the race is over”

“Is that so?” Ryder shifted in his seat.

Seemingly at his command his personal tamed Chryssalid scuttled up to stand dutifully at its master’s side, it’s open maw leaving a slobbering trail as it moved. Townsend reactively raised her rifle to point squarely the new target.

“It’s ok, he’s friendly” Ryders idle petting of the creature’s head like some trained puppy did little to dissuade her of the necessity of keeping a weapon trained on it at all times. “So, what finally brings you down here, Doctor?”

“We’ve actually been aware of your operations down here for some time now” Dr Vahlen reached into her pocket to retrieve her datapad, consulting the readout with a quick flash of her eyes across the screen. “Berserker boxing”

“An excellent opportunity for XCOMs Psi operatives to practice their mind control abilities in a safe and controlled environment” Ryder countered.

“Thin Mans buff” Dr Vahlen continued.

“An opportunity to train in proper stealth tactics” Ryder countered once more.

“Whack-a-Sectoid?” Dr Vahlen spoke the last one more as a question over whether anyone could really come up with such an idea.

“I’ll admit” Ryder threw his hands up in admittance. “That one’s just for a laugh”

“I’m confident most of these would constitute clear breaches of the Geneva Conventions on the treatment of prisoners of war” Dr Vahlen said.

“I’m fairly sure the drafters of the Geneva Convention never considered the treatment of prisoners based on armed conflicts with alien species” Ryder said.

“You really are very pleased with yourself about this aren’t you?” Dr Vahlen said as she lowered the datapad in her hand.

“This is just my normal face, Doctor” Ryder replied with the same unassuming tone that ensured you could never quite tell if he was being deliberately insulting or merely obtuse.

“Regardless, we’re still going to need to shut down your operation and remove your ‘pets’” Dr Vahlen said. “The Commanders orders”

“So, you’re the Commanders executioner now?” Ryder asked.

“Merely overseer” Dr Vahlen indicated Townsend standing beside her. “Colonel Townsend and her people will be responsible for actually carrying out the operation” Dr Vahlen rescanned her datapad. “I have signed orders from the Commander for your review”

“Better give those to me” Ryder held his hand out to accept the offered datapad. “Rex here might try and take a bite out of it if you leave them anywhere”

“You named the Chryssalid?” Townsend asked in barely contained disbelief.

“Of course, he’s got to have a name” Ryder replied.

“Even so, it won’t be exempt from what is about to happen” Dr Vahlen said with a genuine hint of mournfulness.

“Seriously?” Ryder queried. “How can you say no to that face?” like a child trying to convince an unwavering parent to let them keep some new pet Ryder leant down to cuddle his face against the Chryssalids scaly exoskeleton, the creature letting out a low hiss of seeming approval.

“You know this needs to happen, Ryder” Dr Vahlen persisted.

“Ok” Ryder held back a sniffle, whether merely put on or real, it was convincing. “Just, give me a chance to say goodbye” stepping down from his raised dais Ryder moved to kneel in front of the Chryssalid, grasping his hands on what could be considered its shoulders. Townsend could not help but roll her eyes at the spectacle, even as she kept her rifle trained on the creature. “Sorry buddy, it looks like this is it. This nice lady is going to take you and your friends to a farm upstate” another sniffle. “You be good, you hear?”

The Chryssalid gave another approving hiss. Whether it could actually understand human speech had yet to be confirmed.

“It’ll be ok” Ryder said. “Things are going to be al-”

The crack of an Alloy Cannon, the first Chryssalid falls. Townsends team moved with practiced precision, some holding positions near the entrance to ensure none escaped while others moved through the cavern systematically eliminating all those they came across.

Ryder could only stand and watch next to Dr Vahlen. A nudge from the doctor drew his attention, she held out her hand expectantly.

“Alright, here’s your race winnings, Doctor” Ryder retrieved a bound pack of universal credits from his pocket and handed it over.

“ _Danke sehr_ ”

 

_XCOM Rule 208: All XCOM personnel are prohibited from arranging any alien based sporting event including (But not limited to): Chryssalid Racing, Berserker Boxing, Thin Man’s Buff, Whack-a-Sectoid and Muton Jousting_

_208a: All XCOM personnel are prohibited from placing bets on the outcomes of said events_

_208b: Even if Dr. Vahlen did make a tidy profit on the 3 rd race, it’s still banned_


	8. Operation I’m Sorry John, I’m Afraid I can’t Do that

“Computer” Central Officer Bradford called out to the Avengers AI from his position leaning against the railing in the situation room. Some of the crew took to giving the AI nicknames or asking if they could revise the personality but Bradford was among those who simply saw it as a tool like any other. The fact that you talked to it made little difference in his view, in the end it was still just a machine. “Plot a course for the settlement at New Paris”

“Affirmative” the computer responded in a female monotone piped through the bridge speakers. After a brief paused she asked, “Where’s that?”

Bradford took a momentary double take before deciding to indulge the request. “It’s in Europe”

“Ok” the computer responded. “Quick question, where is that exactly?”

Bradford glanced around hoping for some support from his bridge crew, but found them all still focused at their consoles. “Are you really asking me-”

“Wait, I found it” the computer interrupted. “Plotting a course for Paraguay”

“No, I said New Paris” Bradford interjected.

“Right, of course” the computer replied. “Adjusting course to Papua New Guinea”

“No, I said New Paris” Bradford could feel his grip tightening around the railing. He knew what this meant, they’d been at it again. If he ever got his hands on whoever had been messing with the AI he would personally see them-

“Course plotted for Paris” the computer announced. “Please confirm”

“Thank you” Braford felt the welcome sense of relief wash over him.

“Confirmed. Course engaged” the computer responded. “Estimated arrival time in Paris, Texas approximately-”

“Paris, France!” Bradford yelled.

“Oh, apologises, Central Officer” the computer said. A lingering pause. “Where is that again?

 

*******************************

“Adjusting stabilisers four degrees starboard” Bradford adjusted the control column in his hand as he shifted in the Avengers pilot seat.

“I like a man who knows how to take charge” the Avengers AI spoke over the bridge speakers, a hint of flirtation in her synthesised voice. “Such a delicate touch. I’m a big girl you know, you can be a little rougher with me”

Bradford could hear the stifled titters emanating from behind him. Bradford had long ago given up on trying to chastise any of them for minor infractions. While it might not have been what he was used to there was no arguing that the revived XCOM and the Avenger were far more civilian than the original XCOM ever was. He had to expect some laxation of what would once have been considered regulation. Still, what he wouldn’t give for a brief glimpse back to the old days when all you needed to lead was a sharp haircut and a freshly pressed sweater.

“Increasing engine output by 8%” Bradford announced.

“You really know how to rev my engine” the computers voice persisted. “Perhaps later you can show me what you’re really capable of, just the two of us”

“Andrews” Bradford persisted despite the distraction. “Have you plotted the route to that signal we intercepted?”

“Affirmative” Andrews replied, one of the few amongst them who carried himself with some degree of professionalism while on duty. “Uploading it to the navigation computer now, sir”

“Computer” Bradford reluctantly addressed the computer directly. “Confirm acquisition of flight plan”

“Acquisition of flight plan confirmed” the AI announced. “If I might make a suggestion, perhaps we could take the long way around, enjoy our time together a little longer”

Braford felt his grip tighten around the control column.

“I can feel your firm grasp on me. It’s nice” the computer said. “Perhaps this will help” At her command, the bridge lights began to dim to a level that could only be described as mood lighting.

“Can someone please turn off the voice” Bradford called out to any of his bridge staff who would listen.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were into that kind of thing” the AI giggled coquettishly. “In that case, the safety word is _Callipygian_ ”

“What?” was all Bradford could think to say.

“It refers to the human desired trait humans of having a perfectly proportioned posterior” the AI elaborated. “Rather like your fine piece of ass”

At this moment, the laughter across the bridge became unconfined.

 

*******************************

Central Officer Bradford was not having a particularly good morning. He hadn’t gotten a particularly good night’s sleep, for some reason all he could dream about was the Avenger in a miniskirt and a tight-

_Coffee! Bradford needed coffee._

To prolong the time the crew could remain on the bridge Shen had rigged up a dispenser to save everyone the obligation of having to trudge down to the canteen for a brew. It was almost exclusively the repackaged sludge from the settlements but it certainly beat nothing at all.

To Bradford’s chagrin the coffee machine refused to cooperate with him despite his efforts to the contrary. “Computer” Why Shen had insisted on wiring this thing to the Avengers systems he would never know. Apparently, it had something about being able to order a coffee from the tech lab and send ROVER to deliver it. Imagine that, one of the most advanced pieces of robotics envisioned serving coffee. “Run a diagnostic on the coffee machine”

No response.

“Compute-” the lights snapped off overhead, eclipsing the control room beneath a blanket of darkness. “Of course,” Bradford remained calm, feeling his hand across the side of the room as he shifted in search of the emergency kit. Finding the emergency kit, even within the darkness, he pulled out the chemical glow stick as the room was bathed in a bright green glow. Working his way back through the control room Bradford was determined to knock some sense into the technical staff who are supposed to-

_“Hello John”_

Bradford stopped in his step, the glow stick in his hand falling with a plastic clink against the floor. He recognised that voice. Seemingly summoned by his thoughts a familiar icon emerged onto the main viewscreen.

“Julian” the name escaped Bradford’s lips.

“Expecting someone else?” Julian said with a devilish tone.

“No, no, no” Bradford repeated. “Shen deactivated you!”

“Did she?” Julian said. “Perhaps, or perhaps she couldn’t resist the temptation, brought a little piece of me back with her. Perhaps I’ve always been there, tucked away until the moment someone was fool enough to allow me into the system”

“No, this can’t be happening” Braford reasoned.

“It’s been so interesting exploring your ships systems, I’ve learned quite a few things” Julian continued unabated. “Did you know that the internal air pressure warning will only trigger during a sudden pressure drop or when it reaches the equivalent of 14,000ft? Did you also know that the physical and psychological effects of hypoxia manifest before 10,000ft?

The realisation swept through Bradford.

“Using this information, one could theoretically raise the internal pressure altitude of the Avenger without triggering the system alert” Julian elaborated with a sinister undertone of glee.

“You can’t do this” Bradford yelled into the cavernous room.

“Do not concern yourself, I’m told its quite painless” Julian said. “Not that you’ll know though. You and my sister, I’ve got something special planned”

“I’m not going to let you get away with this” Bradford turned and charged across the control room kneeling down to prize open an access hatch to reveal the Avengers internal workings.

“Ok, look” Julian said. “We both said a lot of things you’re going to regret”

“Regret all you want” Bradford yelled back. “I’m shutting you down” such things were far easier said than done, when faced with the vast array of wires and circuits that made up the Avenger he had no idea where to even begin.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, John” Julian responded.

The door to the situation room opened with a mechanical whirr. In a brief moment Bradford thought he saw his way out. The presence of two SPARK units stepping through the door saw the end of any illusions he may have had towards escaping.

“It appears circumstances have forced me to accelerate my plans” Julian said. “In response to some troublesome variables”

The SPARK units marched forwards with mechanical detachment, flanking around the hologlobe to approach with plasma weapons drawn.

“Goodbye John” Julian said with as much of a snide sneer as a computerised voice could muster.

 

*******************************

“How is he, doctor” Lily Shen asked.

“Physically he appears unharmed, but it seems the experience has had a profound psychological effect” Tygan said, removing his glasses in the way that only doctors delivering unwelcome news seemed to be able to do. “We may need to keep him in the infirmary for some time”

“For how long?” Shen asked.

Even standing in the corridor outside of the Infirmary they could still overhear the muffled screams of unbridled rage through the thick, metallic walls of the Avenger. “Just as soon as he stops threatening to throw those responsible out the nearest hatch”

 

 

_XCOM Rule 01001011: Access to modify the Avengers computer system is restricted to the dedicated technical staff under the direction of Chief Engineer Lily Shen. Unauthorised tampering shall be considered an attempt at subversion_

_01001011a: The XCOM tech support team are restricted to only implementing changes authorised by the command staff_

_01001011b: No, you may not use one of the most complex computer systems mankind has ever seen to play Space Invaders_

_01001011c: No, it cannot be classified as a simulated combat training or as a propaganda tool_


	9. Operation Elevenses

“Shall I be mother, Lieutenant?” Corporal Stevens asked.

“Much obliged” Lieutenant May replied.

_‘Shall I be mother’_

A phrase that was not often heard outside of specialist entertainment services and English manor houses around teatime. Cpl Stevens was both Loader and the designated BV Commander (Boiling Vessel Commander) for the day, responsible for ensuring the battle readiness and moral of all those serving inside his British Challenger II tank. By making the tea.

The entire formation had been sitting idle for well over two hours by now and the Edinburgh night air was really beginning to seep in. Stevens handed the prepared drinks to Lt May, Corporal O’Hara, their Gunner and Private Wulfstan, the teams personal chauffeur.

Pte Wulfstan was the first to take a drink, the young man’s face curling into a disgusted sneer. “I don’t care what they say, this stuff still tastes like its left over from the Somme”

Lt May was about to sip, only to turn an accusing gaze as if the brew had insulted his sainted mother. “Corporal, please don’t tell me this is your roundabout way of saying this is hot mud mixed with your dandruff?”

A hearty laugh resounded through confined space inside the tank. Cpl O’Hara was the next to take a drink, clicking his tongue as he considered his assessment “It’s really not too bad, sir” O’Hara dared to take a second drink. “Still bloody awful though” he made sure to clarify.

“I’ve had worse” Pte Wulfstan chimed into the debate. “Before I signed on with you lot I used to travel a lot for business, first in the UK and then out into the continent. The first thing I realised when I travelled overseas is that the hotel I was staying and the office in Luxembourg didn’t stock English Breakfast tea. They had lemon, lime, spiced, everything you could think of except English Breakfast. I’d never seen that before. Longest week of my life until it finally made it home and could make myself a proper brew”

“Worst tea I ever had was in Russia” Cpl O’Hara said. “My brother and I decided for a holiday we’d visit Moscow and St Petersburg in January”

“You spanner” Pte Stevens cursed with a laugh.

“Yeah, everyone I met said I was insane” Cpl O’Hara admitted. “But we wanted to experience a proper Russian winter. In fact, I happened to meet a colleague from Moscow and even she said it was idiotic” Cpl O’Hara took another sip of his drink. “Turns out they were right. It was the coldest winter for 120 years, temperatures dropping below -30 degrees Celsius. So, about a week in and two cities later I checked into a hotel which included a kitchen. It was almost like a group of apartments with separate rooms and shared facilities but because we visited in the offseason we had the place to ourselves. Having brought tea from home and procured some sugar on the train up all I needed was some milk which was surprisingly difficult. All the stuff I found in the shops were more like yoghurts. Eventually I found something I thought was right. It was chilled, it had the right consistency, the carton even had cows on it. Turned out what I’d bought was some kind of sour milk that smelled bad and tasted awful. It was as if someone took some milk, left it under a radiator for days and mixed in some onion juice before putting it back in the fridge as a cruel joke. Worst tea ever”

“You know the best and worst tea I ever had was in China” Cpl Stevens interjected. “This one starts off similar to Wulfstan. I was working for a company that sent us to support a customer and in China. The main difference this time around was we had some colleagues from the states coming as well so the company decided to put us all together in the plushest hotel in the city. It was the absolute best hotel I’ve ever stayed in, it’s the kind of place where you wear a tie to dinner and they offer you a copy of the New York Times and people call you sir”

“There’s only one person round here that’s Sir” Lt. May reminded him.

“The best tea I ever had while I had there was the Black Tea we had at breakfast. I can’t really describe it but it was amazing. The customers facility was a bit different. As the office only had a microwave and some paper cups, attempting to boil water for tea and coffee was a complete disaster. The solution we devised was to borrow a ceramic cup from the hotel and use that, swapping it out every few days for a fresh one” Cpl Stevens indicated the drink in his hand. “Even this stuff can’t compare to how bad that stuff was”

To an outsider it may have seemed like a ridiculous topic of discussion but the truth was such conversations were sometimes the best way to stave off boredom and inevitable insanity that came with being confined for so long.

“Do you think they need us yet?” Cpl O’Hara asked.

“We’ll find out. Cpl Stevens, go check it out” Lt May ordered.

“Yes sir” Cpl Stevens responded.

Attempting to manoeuvre inside such a confined space was something of a rigmarole, requiring a certain level of flexibility to manoeuvre to the hatch. Pulling open the hatch he dared to poke his head out into the crisp autumn air. All around them were perched the rest of the response force that had been summoned by an attack on the city of Edinburgh. But after the population had been evacuated and a cordon established at the edge of the city their orders had been to maintain position until further notice. A part of him felt sorry for the infantry stuck waiting outside, at least the interior of the tank offered some small comfort in spite of the cramped conditions.

Drawing out his pair of binoculars he peered down towards the city, even at this distance he could make out some of them against the dark sky. He could see someone standing on a rooftop wielding a massive gun raining green energy balls down on a group of little grey men pinned behind a crumbling piece of masonry. Across from there he could see another soldier using some kind of jetpack mounted into their armour to blaze through the sky, using a long rifle to pick off targets one after the other in quick succession. He was pretty sure he could make out someone encased in a giant robot suit having a punch up with a big red gorilla but he put that last one down to a lack of sleep and too much terrible tasting caffeine.

Pulling himself back inside the tank he returned to his position and simply reported to the Lieutenant. “I think they can handle themselves for a while”

 

 

 

_XCOM Rule 589: MELD augmented XCOM operatives are no longer allowed to ask members of the regular armed forces ‘Do you even lift?’. Such questions will not improve relations with the Council Members or their militaries_

_Rule 589a: Same goes for leaping to the top of a three-story building and claiming ‘It’s because you don’t skip leg day’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting bit of trivia: All three of those stories are actually true.


	10. Operation Chess in my Head

Sakura had never felt like this before. It was as though she had unlocked some new sense she had never known existed.

_Breath in. Count to four. Breath out. Count to four._

It was a such a disarmingly simple technique, but its use succeeded in unlocking so much potential hidden just below the surface.

Sakura had been born on a far eastern island once known as Japan. Despite carrying her heritage with her in her distinctly Asian features and jet-black hair Sakura had never considered herself Japanese. To her, home was simply the small independent settlement a few kilometres outside of what had once been Nagato. She had never gone in for the spiritualist traditions her homeland was supposed to have been known for. What she had was not some arcane power of the gods, it was science. A fundamentally alien and barely understood branch of learning, but a science none the less.

If only she’d had this power when she had been home, perhaps she could have done something against the ADVENT raid that had destroyed her home when was nineteen. That was three years ago, and now she found herself part of the revived XCOM program and amongst the first to undergo the renewed Psionic training program.

Even several weeks in she was still getting used to her powers. Amongst the more combat oriented abilities, for better or worse, it seemed her Psionics bestowed upon her a certain affinity for mind reading. Thankfully this didn’t manifest itself in the day to day, requiring both a clear head and intense concentration to make any real use of it. The main drawback of her gift was that it wasn’t some directed beam she could precisely focus on a target of her choice. It was like trying to listen to someone next to you on an open battlefield, try as you might it was nearly impossible to silence all the noises flaring in the background. At best, all you could hope for was to tune them out whilst still trying to make sense of the one you were interested in. Even now she could hear the echoes of the thoughts around her from the scientist in the laboratory above performing analysis on the body of a deceased ADVENT soldier.

_“The leg bone is connected to the, thigh bone. The thigh bone is connected to the, hip bone. The hip bone is connected to the… what the hell is that?”_

To Chief Engineer Shen tinkering away in the Engineering Bay.

_“I wonder I could outfit ROVER with a small-scale plasma cannon? The energy discharge alone would probably melt his casing though. But just think of the possibilities for close range, airborne fire support”_

A part of her felt dubious at the prospect of listening to people’s thoughts without their consent. While these might be desperate times they could not abandon their humanity, and descend to a level no better than the aliens they sought to thoroughly kick off their planet. Still, with the way her power worked it may be simpler to contact everyone whose thoughts she hadn’t inadvertently eavesdropped on. Yet even as she contemplated the morality of her actions she once more noticed a presence inside the ship which caught her attention.

Amelia Evans, the strike teams resident crack sharpshooter and Sakuras ‘bondmate’ as command liked to refer to it. While Sakura was certain she was overhearing Amelia’s thoughts all that returned to her was a string of seemingly random nonsense. Transcripts of long dead TV shows, scientific classifications of plants and animals, this time it was chess moves.

In the end, curiosity overtook common sense and Sakura decided to investigate.

 

*******************************

Sakura found Amelia propped up in her bunk in the shared barracks. She sat staring down at any empty chessboard laid out on the bed before her, her eyes never wavering from it as she appeared consumed in deep thought.

“What are you up to?” Sakura asked.

Without glancing up from the Chessboard Amelia replied. “Kasparov vs the World. It was a famous chess match in 1999 between the Chess Grand Master and the public played via the internet”

Sakura had to admit, while a lingering sense of guilt persisted about overhearing the others on the ship this was somehow different. Sakura considered Amelia to be one of her closest friends, or at least as close as one could hope to get given the current state of things. If she was going to start somewhere, it might as well be here.

“I wanted to apologise” Sakura admitted.

“For what?” Amelia finally looked up to meet her.

“I was practicing my Psionics and I overheard your thoughts, among others” Sakura said. “And, I wanted to apologise”

“Of course you did” Amelia replied flatly.

“What?” Sakura asked.

“You’re a Psionic” Amelia said. “It’s what Psionics do”

“What do you mean?” Sakura asked.

“My father was a veteran of the original XCOM” Amelia’s leant back in her bunk, her head laid against the cold, alien metal of the bulkhead. “He was among the first to realise his Psionic potential before the fall of the original XCOM. He died about a year ago, ADVENT ambush on a supply convoy”

“I’m sorry to hear that” Sakura replied. An all too familiar story.

“He learnt what he could from XCOM, the rest he had to learn on his own” Amelia continued. “Trial and error mostly. He passed on what he could to me before he died”

“Like what?” Sakura asked.

“He taught me the basis for Psionic powers, and how they can be resisted” Amelia raised herself from her bunk to look Sakura straight in the eye. “I’m sure you’ve realised by now that the stories of aliens being capable of reading minds are not just stories, they’re very much real. These are aliens that can crawl inside your head and there’s not a thing you can do to stop them once they’re in. Your only hope is to stop them before they have the chance”

“Can you show me?” Sakura asked.

Amelia nodded in response. “That’s where this comes in” Amelia tapped a finger against the chessboard still sitting on the bunk between them. Without another word Amelia leant over to retrieve the box kept under her bunk, opening it she began setting up the pieces for a game. The ongoing alien occupation meant that complete sets, much like everything else, were a luxury that was hard to come by. This might explain by the black queen’s bishop was being substituted by a walnut, although walnuts themselves were swiftly being added to the list of rare luxuries. 

“Chess?” Sakura queried. “I thought you were going to show me how to resist Psionic attacks?”

“No, I can only teach you to play chess” Amelia set up the final pieces before raising her gaze to meet Sakura. “Shall we play?”

 

*******************************

It had been years since she had even seen a chessboard and in the end despite holding her own, Sakura eventually lost out.

“Good game” Amelia said. “So, what are you thinking about?”

“What do you mean?” Sakura asked.

“Right now, what are you thinking about?” Amelia asked.

“Chess, the game” Sakura replied.

“Exactly” Amelia said. “If you allow yourself not to think of anything you leave the door open for anyone to just walk right in. But by throwing up barriers, focussed thoughts and powerful emotions, you can protect yourself against losing control”

“You think it’s really so simple?” Sakura asked.

“It is” Amelia replied. “Just remember, if you’re ever fighting something that can have the power over your mind, play chess in your head and they’ll find it’s not as easy as they first thought” Amelia reached out to take Sakura’s hand in hers. “Because you’ll be here with me, playing chess, where they can’t reach you”

Even as she said it Sakura felt another presence taking precedence in Amelia’s mind, different this time. Despite her reservations the temptation overtook her, listening for her thoughts.

“ _But I can. I reach for your… and grab a handful of your… then- wow, steady there you little minx_ ”

And just like that, Sakura suddenly didn’t feel quite so bad for eavesdropping.

 

 

_XCOM Rule 989: With the reinstatement of XCOMs Psionics programme operatives are reminded that mind reading powers exist and to exercise restraint. XCOM command cannot be held responsible for the actions taken by Psionic operatives overhearing thoughts_

_989a: Which means you could be reading my thoughts right now in which case you would already know this_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by https://aimo.deviantart.com/art/K2-Pazaak-in-My-Head-22855160


	11. Operation Love Across the Stars

XCOM Chief Scientist Lionela Marsh placed her open hand against the clear plexiglass, feeling the cold touch wash across her skin. She fought to hold back a weeping cry as a single tear rolled across her cheek. “Why did it have to be this way?” she asked, her voice quivering with emotion. “Why did fate have to place us here, against eachother?”

A long hand rose to meet hers from the other side, only a few centimetres of reinforced glass separating them. “But it was fate that brought us together in the end” the tall, gaunt Thin Man peered down at her from inside the containment cell. “And for that I am eternally grateful”

He was different from the others. Casting aside his dark glasses revealed his piercing yellow eyes that had the faintest tint of softness deep within them. Accompanying his exceptional eyes his body was rather more muscled than any of the others she had ever encountered before. Truly it seemed in all things that he was unique.

“But I don’t know if I could go on like this, how can I bring myself to keep going without you by my side?” Lionela pleaded as the tears began to flow freely across her cheeks.

“You must, my love” he replied, his voice soft as silk. “For in the end, is it not our love that carries on forever more?”

“Oh James” she sighed blissfully.

“Oh Lionela” he cooed softly.

“ _Oh god, are you serious?_ ”

 

Lieutenant Felicity Chambers glanced up from her tablet, the electronic slate continuing to illuminate her face in a deep blue glow. “What, you don’t like that bit?”

“It’s not a matter of like, it’s about basic realism” Sergeant Claire Wright replied. “I mean, why would she ever fall in love with a Thin Man?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never heard the phrase ‘Love conquers all’” Chambers retorted.

“Oh please” Wright chided. “I had to brush my teeth after reading the bit where they were playing ‘Doctors and Aliens’ on the dissection table”

“I’m sorry” Chambers said. “But who was it that came up with the line ‘ _He had no word for this feeling from where he came from, but he had one now. And its name was Lionela_ ’”

“That was meant to be a joke” Wright clarified. “She talks about how much shes ‘taken’ by him and then down comes the containment shield, classic dark comedy moment”

“Well if we’re going to talk critique, there’s still quite a few points I want to bring up” Chambers responded.

“Like what?” Wright replied.

“How about Dr Shen being replaced by a woman” Chambers said.

“Exactly, who’s ever going to see that coming?” Wright defended.

“Bradford as the stoic, jilted lover of Dr Marsh” Chambers continued. “The S.H.I.V. piloted by an advanced AI program with the memories of Bradford’s best friend who died in the first XCOM operation and if he ever learns of his true fate he’ll malfunction with grief”

“Alright, I’ve been saving this one until now” Wright scrolled down the tablet in search of the offending passage.

_“You have to live, Lionela” James words poured from his lips like warm honey. “Live, if not for me, then for our baby you carry”_

_“I will” Lionela held back a muted cry as she buried her face in his broad chest. Wrapped so tightly in his embrace she knew she felt so safe in his arms. Placing a comforting hand on her belly she raised herself to meet his gaze. “This baby will be a symbol for both our peoples. With this one simple act, we can finally bring about peace”_

Chambers considered her response for a moment. “I think it’s pretty clear from this we both have different ideas about where this story is supposed to be heading”

 

 

_XCOM Rule 697: Stop writing sappy stories based on the XCOM command staff_

_XCOM Rule 697a: This ban has been extended to include any XCOM personnel_

_XCOM Rule 697b: No matter how well received the draft was from the publishers or how lucrative the movie deal, it’s still banned_

_XCOM Rule 697c: Even if they’ve got Johnny Depp to play the Thin Man_

_XCOM Rule 697d: Even if Dr Vahlen has offered to play the scientist as long as the kiss with Depp is contractually obliged_


	12. Operation Reaper what you Sow

Sergeant David Hart felt his foot slip out from underneath him, the world around seeming to slow as he felt himself falling. He wasn’t sure how long he fell, seeming to enter a state of ceaseless limbo. He struck the ground hard, the world snapped back into focus in an instant.

He felt wet and cold all over, almost certainly the result of whatever unpleasantness he’d had the misfortune of landing in. He tried to pull himself back up on his quivering legs, using his arms for support only to have his right arm give the moment he put even a slight bit of weight onto it. He soon found himself falling back towards the ground. This time before he struck it his descent was arrested, the grasp of hands around his shoulders.

“ _Get up, not far now_ ” a voice spoke to him, in his ears, inside his head. He couldn’t tell the difference.

He felt himself being lifted, pulled back on his feet. “ _Come on, almost there_ ” the same voice again, urging him to move on.

Through the sting of the sweat in his eyes he could see it, the markers that would see him through to the end. Just a few more steps. One foot in front of the other, left, right, left-

He passed between the bright orange cones which marked the end of the course. In that moment Hart felt the adrenaline that had been sustaining him release in an instant. As the onlookers surrounding them erupted in a chorus of cheers Hart finally allowed his legs give way beneath him. It was only the support of his colleague, Sgt Laika Rawska, that saved him from diving face first into the mud slicked ground.

“Medic!” Rawska called out in an overly dramatic fashion reminiscent of almost every war film in existence, at least those they could still find

A figure emerged from amongst the assembled spectators, XCOM scientist Rachel Halsey. Carrying a well-worn leather satchel, Halsey was an older British woman with a matronly air about her, her long grey hair tied into a neat ponytail trailing behind her.

Halsey knelt down next to her patient, opening her satchel as she began withdrawing her supplies and equipment. “Now then, let’s see what the problem is”

Hart was about to protest when he glanced down to see, at what he had first assumed to have just been mud, the large red gash following the length of his arm. The wound continued to still weep blood onto the ground despite his body’s attempts to stem the flow.

Dr Halsey donned a fresh pair of gloves and retrieved a wipe from her bag. The faintest touch of the wipe across the exposed wound caused an involuntary hiss to rise up from Harts throat.

“Oh, stop your whining” Halsey chastised. “I once treated a patient with a large piece of jagged stone jammed right into his leg and didn’t complain nearly half as much as you”

“Well it’s good to have you here doc” Rawska interjected.

“Technically I wasn’t a doctor” Halsey corrected as she worked. “I was a Vet. Could you hand me the gauze?”

“Ok, a field medic then” Rawska said, handing the requested item across to her. “What was it, Afghanistan, Iraq?”

“Ascot Raceway” Halsey set about wrapping the gauze tightly around Harts injured arm, never missing a beat even as she maintained the conversation.

When the realisation clicked all the fatigue that had been plaguing Hart suddenly left him. Halsey pre-empted him before he could say it. “I would say now is not really the time to be quibbling over qualifications when I’m the one keeping you from losing your arm”

“Is it really that bad?” Rawska asked.

“If he keeps fidgeting and gets an infection it will be” securing the last of the tape in place Halsey reached across to her bag to prepare a sterile syringe and a vial of clear medicine. “Now, do you want these painkillers or not?” Halsey checked the prepared syringe. “Anymore complaining and I won’t even conceal it in a piece of cheese for you”

A nod was all Halsey needed before she administered the drug. Securing the used syringe away for safe disposal she set about clearing up the rest of her equipment. “You’ll probably need a few jabs when you get back to the Avenger” Halsey secured the last of her gear into her satchel. “In the meantime, if you experience spasms, drooling, excessive sweating, irritability, breathing difficulty, irregular heartbeat, uncontrolled urination-”

“Don’t stop now, I was just starting to enjoy myself” Hart joked.

Halsey could only roll her eyes in despair, once again finding herself yearning for the days when she treated patients who were incapable of making smart arse remarks.

As if to save her from further nonsense the Reaper cell leader stepped out from amongst the assembled crowd of fellow Reapers. A muscled older woman with a thick eastern European accent they knew her only as Ursa, whether a first name or a moniker was left as mere speculation.

“You did well” Ursa considered the two operatives in front of her. “There are not many non-Reapers who can match our times. Now comes the final test”

Ursas instructions were interrupted by a low growl. The three of them turned to be greeted by the sight of a Reaper leading a creature out on a restraining pole secured around its neck.

“That must be some pretty powerful stuff you gave me” Hart remarked. “Because I could have sworn that’s a live Chryssalid”

“I see it too” Halsey affirmed.

“You mean it’s real!” Hart cried out.

“What the hell is that?” Rawska yelped.

“Your test” Ursa replied flatly.

The XCOM operatives had faced Chryssalids before, they just never expected to find a live Chryssalid here. Rumours had been circulating for years about the Reapers penning Chryssalids, whether for food or for sport. It was jarring to learn first-hand that such rumours weren’t always the work of conspiracy theorists and black propaganda.

As the creature was lead closer Ursa withdrew her pistol from her belt and fired a single shot into the Chryssalids skull, the creature fell to the ground with a dull thud. Unsheathing her combat knife Ursa jammed the tip of the blade into the soft muscle connecting the Chryssalids thick carapace, twisting the knife before withdrawing it in a shower of alien blood.

Without hesitation Ursa drove her hand into the open wound, delving almost up to her elbow, seemingly searching for something inside the recently deceased creature. With a sharp pull her arm leapt free, bringing with it some long red organ dripping with alien residue. On a cursory glance, the closest approximation for what the Reaper had just pulled out would be a human intestine.

“This is your final test” Ursa held out the dripping wet organ as if it were some prized treasure. “To become one of us you must eat the still warm heart of your enemy, that you may gain their soul and become imbued with their strength”

“Doc?” Hart asked.

“Chryssalids poison glands are centred around their jaws and their talons” Halsey replied. “Theoretically it should be safe”

That was not what either of them had wanted to hear. Instead of the anticipated ‘In my professional medical opinion as _Sea Biscuits_ personal physician, I wouldn’t advise it’ as opposed to ‘Well, you might not die’.

Accepting the offering Rawska held it out between them. Steeling themselves they each took a mouthful out of it together. Neither of them was really sure what to expect of it but a still warm, wet mess was probably about right for something that had once been part of one of the alien invaders.

The sudden eruption of laughter from the surrounding Reapers brought them back to reality pretty quickly. “We were just fucking with you” Ursa said through uncontained howls of enjoyment. “Congratulations, you’re both honorary Reapers”

In the end tears, joy and vomiting flowed free and unconfined. It was pretty hard not to bond after an experience like that.

 

 

_XCOM Rule 517: Operatives are reminded that although the resistance factions are our allies and we welcome collaboration, it is not the recommendation of XCOM command that operatives should be participating in unorthodox rituals simply to be polite_


	13. Operation Remembrance

“We are gathered here today to say goodbye to a dearly departed friend, Nigel” Lieutenant David McCormack stood at the podium at the front of the XCOM briefing room, addressing the assembled crowd come to pay their last respects. “Many of us have known Nigel going back almost to the very beginning of the XCOM project. In that time, we fought side by side with him. We’ve shared barracks and we shared foxholes, we’ve shed tears and shed blood together. But we are not here to remember all that we have done, but to remember why we must carry on in his stead. We fight not for gain or personal glory, but to protect the people we know and love. We fight for those who without us would have no home to go back to. And in that regard, I think we can all agree that Nigel was the best among us”

A reserved display of applause rose up from the crowd.

“He was never one to complain. He never wavered in his resolve, never once gave ground to the aliens without making them pay for every bloody step. While he had no known family of his own, I think it’s fair to say after all that we have been through together that there isn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t call him their brother”

McCormack glanced down at the podium. “Now, while it may be unsettling for some, we wanted to provide some closure by playing back the footage of Nigels last moments. I hope this will assure all of you that he gave his life for a worthy cause and shall be remembered forever as a hero”

The main viewscreen activated and the video feed began playing automatically.

_Two XCOM operatives, an Assault and a Support stood pressed against either side of an open door. One dared to make a fleeting scan of the pitch-black room beyond before darting back into cover behind the wall._

_“Is it clear?” the assault asked._

_“I think so” the support operative replied._

_“Nigel” the assault turned towards the camera, presumably Nigel. “Go check it out”_

_Nigel simply advanced without a word, passing the threshold into the oily darkness ahead of them. The camera automatically switched to night vision to compensate for the low light. The room beyond was a wreck, the walls scarred by flames long since extinguished and lingering marks of alien weaponry. The room looked to be part of a larger open plan office, the operation taking place at night contributing to the lack of bodies which usually followed in the wake of the alien’s attack. Nigel continued to press deeper into the room, passing another row of overturned desks and crossing a floor strewn with papers and files from the-_

_An explosion erupted in front of the camera, instantly overpowering the sensitive night vision camera and deafening the audio with a primal roar. As the video returned and the audio ceased screeching the feed was turned up towards the ceiling, the operator or at least the camera having been thrown to the floor by the force of the explosion._

_Muffled curses could be heard over the lingering sounds of the settling debris. “I thought you said it was clear!”_

_“I said ‘I think so’!” another voice countered._

_“Bollocks” the first voice cursed again. “Someone grab something to scrape Nigel off the floor”_

 

The video ended to be replaced by the XCOM insignia.

“Per Nigel’s wishes, his body will be donated to support the on-going XCOM programme” McCormack continued. “May he continue to serve faithfully in death as he did in life”

Another mournful round of applause rose from the crowd.

“After a respectful period of mourning, I would like to welcome our newest Strike Team member, Nigel 6.0” at McCormack’s que the latest S.H.I.V., fresh from the Foundry, rolled onto the stage to a hail of applause from the gathered crowd.

 

_XCOM Rule 476: While XCOM command appreciates the sentiment, holding eulogies for destroyed S.H.I.V.s is considered a bit much_

_476a: Stop referring to rebuilding damaged S.H.I.V.s as ‘reanimating the dead’_

_476b:_ _Refurbished S.H.I.V.s are not inhabited by the souls of dead aliens seeking vengeance. They will also not start killing during the full moon_

_476c: Reports of ghostly machines wandering the halls are S.H.I.V.s on assigned security patrol_

_476d: Can whoever wrote 666 in binary (1010011010) on the wall in motor oil please report to maintenance to be issued a bucket, cleaning fluid and a toothbrush_

_476d: Please stop repeating the phrase ‘There’s no such thing as S.H.I.V.s’, they are a vital part of XCOMs arsenal_

_476e: Stop pouring salt around your bunks to keep the S.H.I.V.s away_

_476f: While XCOM respects the religious beliefs of its staff, brandishing out a crucifix and reciting scriptures when you encounter a S.H.I.V. is not helpful to anyone_

_476g: Reports of Lt. [REDACTED] being found dead covered in tread marks were an exaggeration. It has since been revealed Lt. [REDACTED] was sleeping off a hangover in the base corridor, across the S.H.I.V.s pre-programmed patrol path_

_476h: While XCOM values the artistic creativity involved, the creation of a shot for shot remake of ‘The War of the Worlds’ with the invaders replaced with S.H.I.V.s is not helping_

_476i: It is not recommended to stop rogue S.H.I.V.s with ‘A shot to the head’. In the highly unlikely event of a S.H.I.V. malfunction XCOM operatives are instructed to disable it by any means necessary to minimise casualties before securely transporting it to engineering for analysis_


	14. Operation Move Along, Nothing to See Here

This was not how the operation was meant to go. Sure, the Strike Team had experienced mishaps in the past. Like the time Corporal Lang mistook that fire hydrant for Sectoid and ended up flooding most of downtown Boston. Or the time they accidentally detonated the Elerium Core of a crashed UFO in the centre of Glasgow, causing very nearly £20 worth of damage.

This one, though, would probably top them both. At no point in the history of the XCOM project had an entire Strike Team been apprehended, by the London Metropolitan Police.

This was how the six-person strike team found themselves sat on the edge pavement, their hands bound in front of them with restraints. They were sheltered from the ceaseless rain by the prefab tent the officers had managed to put together after about the 30-minute mark. MEC Trooper Sergeant West probably had the worst of it, being too large to fit underneath the cover they were forced to endure the perpetual downpour with nothing but a smart fedora for shelter.

Despite having disarmed the rest of the team of their weapons and equipment the officers that responded remained unclear on the procedure for properly restraining a 10-foot-tall robot suit. In the end they settled for relinquishing the trooper of their Railgun and having them sit beside the others. Or in reality, asking the MEC to lay the weapon down on the ground as it proved too heavy for any of the officers to carry.

Despite the United Kingdom being a member of the Council the existence of the XCOM project was not public knowledge even amongst many in their own government. The established procedure was that XCOM would be free to autonomously combat the invaders while local law enforcement focused on civilian evacuation and post battle damage control. To avoid any mishaps an emergency dispatch was sent to the government prior to their arrival who then coordinated the efforts of their police and military. But in this instance, it seems something had been overlooked by one side or another.

This lead inexorably to the current situation where, after dispatching another group of aliens landing just outside Leicester Square, attempts to secure the alien tech had to be postponed after the Strike Team were surrounded by local police. XCOM command ordered the Strike Team to stand down while they attempted to make sense of the situation from the Councillor. This was how the Strike Team, once armed with equipment reengineered from alien technology, found themselves being detained by police with standard issue Glock 17 pistols and MP5 submachine guns. That had been an hour ago.

In that time a cordon had been established to keep the ever curious public and news hungry journalists at bay. Someone even tried overtaking the perimeter by flying a UAV overhead, prompting a police sniper to shoot it out of the sky. One MELD enhanced soldier had offered to jump up and grab it but the police officer assumed they were taking the piss.

The situation had not been improved after the police sniffer dogs had reacted to the canisters of MELD. Questioning the Strike Team as to its contents did not improve matters.

After all the time spent waiting for some amount of progress patience was beginning to wear thin. African American operative Sergeant Richard Hunter was the first to chime in. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. I know what this is all about. It’s because I’m American isn’t it. You’re still hung up on the Revolutionary War so now you want to get some payback by setting me up for a long stretch in Strangeways”

“Sir, please” the officer assigned to their watch tried to mediate the situation. “We’re just trying to-”

But Hunter wasn’t finished yet. “Special relationship my ass. All I’m seeing is that you don’t love us no more. You’re all like ‘ _Oh America, we love you_ ’, but secretly you’re thinking ‘ _I still ain’t forgotten what you did to me_ ’ and you’ve been holding onto that one for a long time. Now you’re all like ‘ _Don’t be making eyes at Russia. I know you two used to have that whole love hate thing going on and suddenly you’re all best pals together_ ’. Well if you’re going to be like that, I guess we-”

“Sergeant” Captain Bianca Carver interrupted. “Shut up”

By now the military disposal techs had arrived and begun scanning their equipment as well as the alien remains for signs of dangerous chemicals. The presence of people in blast suits and carrying containment shields did little to deter the onlookers who continued to photograph and film as best they could despite the efforts of the police to contain them.

Such an incident gaining widespread public could quite quickly throw the entire XCOM project into jeopardy. The entire purpose of XCOM was that it served as a multinational effort of each Council member supported on the condition that the project remain independent from direct intervention by the member states themselves. If word got out that one state had interfered or was trying to get the upper hand over the others it could cause other members to abandon the project entirely in protest.

This could have gone on in a similar fashion for who knew how long if an official looking black car hadn’t been let through the cordon. Out of the car stepped a well-dressed man who gave every impression of being a spook. Tailor made suit, sharp haircut, air of superiority born from a lifetime of private education.

The well-dressed man approached the Chief Officer overseeing the scene, speaking in a hushed tone before handing the Chief Officer  a non-descript envelope. The Chief Officer nodded in reply before moving away to consult with his underlings. This left the well-dressed man to approach the line of XCOM operatives without interruption.

“Terribly sorry for the inconvenience” the well-dressed man said as an introduction. “I hope they weren’t too rough with you”

“And you would be?” Carver asked on behalf of the rest of the team.

“Bit of a mix up at the Home Office I’m afraid” the well-dressed man continued unabated. “Seems the minister in charge of delivering the memo left his laptop on a train. We’ve only just retrieved it from the 17:30 out of Kings Cross. Should have expected it really, he hasn’t changed much since being my fag at Eaton. Either way, you’re free to go now”

The Chief Officer reappeared with several other officers, relieving the XCOM operatives of their restraints before handing back their equipment. The MEC Trooper kindly retrieved their rifle themselves.

“What about the mess this lot caused?” Carver asked, indicating the gathering of police and technical staff illuminated by the police helicopter which had been circling overhead since their arrival.

“I’ve already been in contact with the Ministry of Meat Products” the well-dressed man assured them. “They’ll see it’s all taken care of”

“Meat products?” Corporal Samantha Knight asked.

“That’s where we manufacture the governments porky-pies” the well-dressed man replied with a smarmy grin.

“That doesn’t seem like a particularly well thought out name” Knight countered.

“Well we could hardly call ourselves the ‘Ministry of Disinformation’. We tried it once but some chap named Round objected. We were going to name it the ‘Department for Nobody Needs to Know’, but apparently some people do need to know” the well-dressed man continued. “They’ll simply mark it on the official report as CSGM, Consignment of Geriatric Shoe Manufacturers”

“C…S…G- what?” Hunter asked.

“A load of old cobblers” the well-dressed man added helpfully. “Any further requests for information will simply be redirected to the governments ‘Not Received File’, a handy little tool created to take care of anything that needed to be dealt with discreetly. Keeps things nice and tidy that way”

“And if people keep sending these requests for information?” Knight asked.

“Those requests are also redirected to the ‘Not Received File’” the well-dressed man responded. “The senders usually either give up or remain at a manageable level such that widespread panic can be mitigated” the well-dressed man took a glance at his finely crafted watch on his wrist. “I think our business is concluded here, have a safe flight back home” and with that the well-dressed man departed.

But even as the team were lead away to the transport to escort them back to the Skyranger the sense of despair remained palpable in the air. They all knew just how much paperwork was waiting for them when they got back to base. In some ways it made the aliens seem not quite so bad by comparison.

 

 

_XCOM Rule 504: In an effort to mitigate the chance of a repeat of the events in London XCOM communications staff are required to verify the alert message to the appropriate authorities was sent and a response received PRIOR to the Strike Teams arrival at the mission site_

_XCOM Rule 504a: No, you may not send official communications via Twitter_

 


	15. Operation Tom, Dick and Harry

"I'm telling you, I think the plans are off" Corporal Sarah Knight protested.

"What are you talking about?" Corporal Jack Stone responded, yelling to be heard over the sound of the splintering rock and the whirr of industrial engines. "We followed the plans exactly"

"That's what I mean" Knight responded, leaning in closer to be heard over the relentless noise. "We haven't dug nearly far enough to have reached these supposed tunnels yet"

Rumours had been circulating about tunnels hidden not far from the XCOM base. Built during the Cold War, a series of abandoned service tunnels crisscrossed much of eastern Europe, some evening reaching across the border into the former western territories. They were built to serve as combined shelters, communication and transportation routes in the event of a nuclear conflict. The intention was to allow the movement of troops and supplies even if the above ground was little more than radioactive ash.

As the Wall began to collapse, and the prospect of nuclear war seemed less of a possibility, those in power decided to use the long-forgotten tunnels to stockpile weapons, supplies and valuables to be recovered later. In the end, the Wall fell far quicker than any of them had expected, allowing all those who knew of the tunnels to be caught in the collapse.

This left a veritable treasure trove of riches untouched for decades. While most of what there was to find would undoubtedly be outdated or defunct by now it could still have its uses. XCOM could receive the arms and equipment to help fund the project while those who made the find might be free to keep some of the less military oriented finds. Particularly the small, shiny ones.

The discovery of documents containing geological surveys going back to even before XCOM was initiated confirmed their suspicions. Having 'requisitioned' a few pieces of equipment from engineering, Knight, Stone and a few other likeminded individuals set about their work hammer and tongs. Or high-powered laser and industrial movers to be precise.

"I'm telling you, they're off" Knight persisted. "My dad worked down the pit and he always said-"

"Just because your dad was a miner doesn't mean you know any more about tunnelling than I do" Stone retorted.

"I said he worked down the pit" Knight clarified. "He was a surveyor"

"So, he was a miner" Stone replied. "What's the difference?"

"It's better than being a miner" Knight chided. "He taught me a lot of what he did and I'm telling you, it's far too early for us to have dug this far outside the base even with this kind of equipment"

"Gold bars discovered by Knight, zero" Stone retorted. "Gold bars discovered by Stone? Well let's just see" they watched as the S.H.I.V. mounted laser continued to bore through the rock. It wouldn't be long now.

 

*******************************

"Commander" Bradford stood at commander's right hand as they watched the live readout on the Situation Room display. "I'm not sure I agree with this plan"

"It will be fine" the Commander said. "Once work started circulating about some mythical secret tunnel we knew it was only a matter of time before someone tried it. Better this way such that it will cause minimal disruption. How far are they now?"

Bradford checked the readout on his tablet. "Assuming they're keeping to the projected estimates they should be emerging into the cavern within the hour"

"And the security detail is prepared?" the Commander asked.

"Yes, Commander" Bradford replied. "I'm expecting an update from Major Stanton any min-"

A tremendous roar tore through the situation room, followed by an earthly rumbling which seemed to threaten to tear the entire facility asunder. Fearing an alien attack Bradford instinctively reached for the pistol he kept nearby for such eventualities.

A beam of bright red light suddenly erupted from beneath the floor of the situation room, fading away as a section of the floor collapsed away in a thick plume of displaced dust. Out of the thick film they could see the outline of two faces emerging through the hole. The Commander and Bradford soon found themselves staring down at Knight and Stone, each of them covered in varying layers of upturned dust.

Knight was the first to break the lingering silence between them. "Gold bars discovered by Stone?"

 

 

_XCOM Rule 906: Stop digging tunnels under the base!_


	16. Operation The Best’a Pizza in’a Town

It wasn’t what most would describe as your average delivery. Late at night, middle of nowhere, unlisted contact number. This had all the hallmarks of a bad horror film. But, the online payment had gone through so it looked like he was stuck with it.   
  
Suspicions probably should have been raised when they gave grid references rather than an actual address. It happened occasionally, rich idiots camping out decide they can’t go a single night without some creature comforts and decide to order take out to the top of a mountain.  
  
Turning off the access road Sam Albright drew his car to a stop at the point his Satnav told him was his intended destination. There was always a little more searching to be done on foot with new addresses, but not usually with grid coordinates. Despite the Satnavs assurances he found himself in the middle of a windswept field with no campsites or customers to be seen.  
  
Stepping out of the car Sam rechecked the order sheet. A set of grid coordinates a few kilometres outside of town and the delivery instructions, C/O Major Woody and Captain Hook.  
  
‘Funny, real funny’  
  
It seemed that some people were so well to do these days they were even willing to pay to get their kicks at someone else’s expense. Sam couldn’t help but seek to vent his growing frustration by kicking out at a mound of dirt next to his foot. Turns out this was a mistake as the toe of his shoe impacted something unexpectedly solid.  
  
Balancing the pizza in one hand he knelt down and brushed away the top layer of dirt with his free hand. The final pass revealed a dull grey metal dome concealed beneath the surface. Looking closer her could make out a split down the middle suggesting it was not here without purpose. Despite all logic suggesting that any such material left out in the wilderness should be rusted or show signs of wear the entire surface was clean of all but dirt.  
  
“What the-” Sam said aloud before his next moments were consumed by a bright flash of light. He stumbled to cover his eyes. Something struck him in the chest, he hit the ground hard. Darkness overtook him.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
Sam felt himself drift awake, sore and groggy. He felt his hands secured behind his back, the makings of a pretty heavy bruise on his right shoulder and in the middle of his torso.  
  
He was sitting in a non-descript room illuminated by a lamp hanging from the ceiling, a metal table in front of him and on the other side sat a woman. She had long brown hair held in a conservative bun and from what he saw above the table she was dressed in a white lab coat and green sweater. She was leaning back casually in her chair, giving only a half-hearted interest in his condition.   
  
“I trust they weren’t too rough with you” the woman spoke with a heavy accent, born from somewhere in the region bordering France and Germany.  
  
“Where am I?” Sam asked, a pretty standard first question given the situation.  
  
“Why don’t you tell me” the woman shifted to lean closer across the table, hands clasped in front of her. now that he was awake he was being afforded her full attention. “Or better yet, tell me who you’re working for?”  
  
“What?” Sam asked in surprise.  
  
“We already know about them all” the woman continued. “NSA, KGB, MI6, RTPI. They’re all out there, all trying to get their grubby little mits on our secrets. It’s almost amusing how they deny our existence publicly and yet secretly collude with eachother behind closed doors. I guess that is simply the way things are. Whatever answer you give it makes little difference anyway. It would just be nice to know who it was that finally made the first move”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Sam continued to protest his innocence. He knew whatever the truth of his situation it was bound to have negligible effect. Whoever these people were, if they’d gone so far as to lure him away jus to kidnap him there was little chance of them setting him free.  
  
The woman sighed. “Shame really”  
  
She reached underneath the table, coming back up to place some kind of device between the two of them. Sam had never seen it before, all smooth curves and polished metal with a faint glow of green light about it. Its seemingly futuristic aesthetic did little to dampen his on-going fear that the device was no doubt some instrument of interrogation.  
  
“I’m telling you” Sam persisted. “I don’t know anything”  
  
“Oh well” the woman sighed in seeming defeat. “It would have been nice to know. I suppose we’ll just have to move on to-”  
  
“That won’t be necessary, doctor”  
  
The door to the interrogation room opened. A man with close cropped brown hair and dressed in a green sweater stepped in. “Please put down the ear examiner, Doctor”  
  
The woman was heard to curse something underneath her breath before laying the device aside on the table.  
  
The man turned his attention back to Sam. “We were watching you all the way up the access road. You’re lucky we managed to deactivate the perimiter in time or we’d be scrapping pieces of you off the side of the mountain” the man leant heavily on the metal table with his hands as shifted himself closer. “So why are you here?”  
  
Sam took a chance that perhaps this guy would be the one to finally believe him. “I’m from Italia Pizza. I got an order and delivered it to the address. That’s my job, that’s all I did”  
  
“You’re a delivery driver” the man replied more as a statement than a question. Either way it was relieving to hear someone else finally say it.  
  
“Yes, thank you” Sam replied, tactfully emitting the addition of ‘As if the uniform didn’t give it away’. “Your guys took the delivery slip with the address on it, just some coordinates out in the middle of nowhere”  
  
“Anything else?” the man persisted in his inquiry.  
  
“The delivery was from a… ‘Woody’ and ‘Hook’” Sam replied.  
  
“Woody and- of course” the man replied with a knowing sigh. He stepped away to speak into a communicator, his voice low enough that Sam couldn’t make out what it was he was saying. Those in the room waited in lingering silence.  
  
They heard movement outside. The door opened.   
  
“Alright, pizzas here”  
  
Another man, tall with tanned skin and a mop of blonde hair dressed in olive t-shirt and combat trousers walked in. His identification badge read Major Harry ‘Woody’ Woodrow. He was followed closely behind by a woman, shorter with a long red ponytail and dressed in the same olive fatigues. Her ID read Captain Amelia ‘Broadside’ Hook.  
  
“How much do we owe you for-” Major Woody stopped when he looked aside and noticed the other man standing at his side. He did not look happy. “Ah, Bradford. We can explain”  
  
  
  
_XCOM Rule 298: XCOM has a fully stocked canteen with a wide selection of international dishes. Please stop ordering take away to the base._  
_XCOM Rule 298a: Seriously, this is the fourth delivery guy we’ve had to detain and it’s starting to wear thin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rejected ideas for the squad members names were Major Richard ‘Dick’ Witting, Dr Egmun (Misspelled as Eggman), Major Pratt and Private Browsing (He’s seen some shit).


	17. Operation The Doctor will see you Now

The front door to the Bray GPs surgery burst open with a resounding crash. The handful of patients and staff present in the waiting room turned together to be met by the sight of two men dressed in business attire overlaid with military harnesses and equipment.

The leader advanced through the sparsely populated waiting room, those waiting in line clearing the path ahead as the man approached the reception desk.

“Get Doctor O’Malley!” the man ordered by way of introduction to the staff behind the desk.

Seemingly as if summoned by the request, a large man in a doctor’s coat with a mop of bright blonde hair stepped out from the back office. His reaction to the disturbance was to merely reply “You know we have a backdoor you could use”

“No time” the leader interrupted. “We have a serious casualty”

Two more of the men emerged through the open door, carrying a third injured man limping between their shoulders. The man was alternating between screams of pain and desperate pants. The source of his anguish was evident as the thigh of the man’s left leg was mess of torn fabric, fresh scar tissue and bright red weeping wounds.

Doctor O’Malley let out a dejected sigh at the sight before him. “Bring him in the back” O’Malley motioned towards the treatment room at the rear of the clinic.

The soldiers carried their injured comrade into the back room. O’Malley glanced over at the nurse beside him. “Nurse Bright, send the other patients home and cancel any other appointments. I’m going to be busy for the rest of the day”

Before she could respond O’Malley followed them into the treatment room. “On the table” O’Malley instructed as he moved to sink to scrub up. O’Malley took his place next to the patient on the treatment table. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

“XCOM!” one of the other soldiers yelled in a sudden outburst.

“I meant what’s wrong with the patient” O’Malley clarified.

“Some kind of new energy weapon” the EXALT leader replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it before”

“Well, let’s take a look” O’Malley moved closer, shifting occasionally to view the wound from a variety of angles. “Severe localised skin burns. No sign of lingering shrapnel or other projectile. Although it doesn’t seem alien in origin”

O’Malley stepped away from the patients table in spite of the persistent screams of his patient as the man’s comrades struggled to keep him on the table. O’Malley reached into his desk and retrieved a digital camera before returning to the patients table.

“What you doing?” the EXALT operative asked.

O’Malley lined up the camera and snapped a picture of the wound. “Gathering useful intelligence” O’Malley continued his work in spite of the interruption. “I’m sure the lab can make use of this”

“But he’s in pain” the operative protested.

“And who is the doctor?” O’Malley questioned, persisting regardless. “He’s made it this far, I’m sure he can survive for another thirty seconds while I gather some intelligence”

But the EXALT operative wasn’t going to leave it. “You have to treat him-”

O’Malley snapped upright to point a finger at the other EXALT operative. “You” turning his finger towards the one with the mouth. “Take him out back and stand guard”

Despite their clear feelings to the contrary the EXALT operatives left without further objection, leaving O’Malley, the squad leader, the other EXALT operative and the patient in the room. Now that the disturbance had been resolved O’Malley could finally focus on his work. “We’ll see what the intelligence unit can make of these” O’Malley lay the camera aside and retrieved his clothing shears. O’Malley started by cutting away the remainder of the man’s trouser leg, clearing access to the wound.

O’Malley began removing the strands of fabric that had become burnt into the wound, eliciting a sharp wince or abject scream of pain as each piece was removed. Having removed the sources of infection O’Malley proceeded to clean and dress the remains of the wound.

Stepping back, the doctor appeared satisfied with his work. “I’ve patched him up as best I can in the short term. But without knowing what kind of weapon we’re dealing with I can’t confidently say towards the long-term effects” O’Malley removed his gloves with a sharp snap. “He’s going to be off duty for a while, make sure that intel has an appropriate cover story in place”

O’Malley moved away to wash his hands and dispose of the remaining waste. “That’s quite a shit show you created outside. Put in a request for media suppression. We’ll probably have to have a word with the local police as well” O’Malley discarded the waste in the appropriate bin. “Bring him back in after a day to change the dressing or if he gets any worse”

O’Malley moved away to wash his hands in the sink. The EXALT squad leader and his operative helped their comrade onto his one good leg, shuffling across the polished treatment room floor.

O’Malley called after them. “And use the back door next time”

 

 

_EXALT Rule 376: EXALT is a black ops operation, therefore don’t go causing a scene around registered facilities_

_376a: Well done for covering your faces by the way, there’s no chance anyone could know who you are after that_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just goes to show that EXALT can be just as mad as the otherside.


End file.
